BBC Sherlock: Unspoken: SUBTEXTS from The Empty Hearse by Wynsom
by Wynsom
Summary: (Sherlock BBC 3:1) Scenes and Subtexts from The Empty Hearse. What were John's thoughts after discovering Sherlock was alive? What were Sherlock's after John's rejection? Each chapter inserts words not spoken that explores how their friendship survives The Fall. (Faithful to the BBC series with some liberties.) Thanks to sevenpercent for her insights that supported this rewrite.
1. Chapter 1

Unspoken 1

**CHAPTER 1: RESTLESS**

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_You unbelievable BASTARD!_

**Incredulous and infuriated, John Watson lay on his back, wide awake in bed, and staring up through the darkness. Mary lay curled asleep beside him. Her soft rhythmic breathing usually brought him great comfort, except for tonight. **

_Noooooo, not tonight._

**Having looked the very-much-alive Sherlock Holmes square in the eye, convinced he was dead, John's thoughts swirled and collided in emotional chaos.**

_Two years I grieved! You LET me grieve… Two bloody years feeling dead inside!_

**John hitched a breath: Sherlock flailing and falling, followed by the unmistakable thud of a body on impact, were etched deeply in his mind. He winced with pain and turned onto his side careful not to disturb Mary, but he would not close his eyes.**

_Watching you die nearly fucking hell killed me!_

**Over the stretch of months that followed the suicide, John could not shut his eyes in restful sleep without his memory replaying every vivid moment over and over and over as he mourned the man he failed. The initial shock and disbelief dissipated over time, and John resumed the guise of normalcy at work and in public. Yet, Sherlock's inexplicable death troubled him with biting guilt and blinding grief as intense as the sandstorms of Afghanistan. He felt parched by hopelessness and lost in disillusionment as if he were still stumbling through the hot desert, except instead of sand, this was a wasteland of endless desolation from which he might never emerge. **

**Until six months ago, when he met Mary**

**She rescued him. Her kindness and tenderness over the subsequent months, like tiny sips of water slowly administered to a dehydrated patient, nurtured and refreshed him. Weary of being emotionally crippled, John allowed himself to feel love again. With Mary by his side, if she would have him, he had a chance to recover fully. Tonight's marriage proposal was—would have been—a tremendous step toward quenching that thirst.**

**Then he caught sight of the dead man.**

**_"…like staring at the face of an old friend."_****The baritone voice coaxed him to look up.**

**In that instant, when he focused on the distinctive face of Sherlock Holmes, it was like a long drink of water—satiating, then drowning him.**

**Afraid to cast his eyes away, John was gripped by fear. For so long, he had been tormented by bereavement hallucinations. These "ghosts"—tall, look-alike passers-by—compelled him to rush in pursuit, his heart in his throat with hope; but each time it was dashed by the shocked surprise of yet another stranger thinking he was deranged. Three months ago, when he decided to restart his life with Mary, John finally stopped "seeing" Sherlock as much.**

**In _The Landmark's Restaurant_, John stared hard at the ghost peering back at him. Stammering as he stood up at the table, he shook in disbelief, faltered, dropped his head, and drew in a deep breath. When he raised his eyes to meet the familiar face for a second time, he glared with white hot fury. His heart galloped, his brain clamored for control whilst his fist slammed hard on the tabletop. It all became a blur, but something sparked him to react, and he launched into an attack, his passion blindly overtaking his reason.**

_Can't remember what you said. Don't know why I throttled you, Sherlock. Always imagined I'd bloody-hell kiss you if you stopped being dead—damn all the old rumors! And then, there you were tonight. Just like that. LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED!_

**Mary stirred, before falling back into her deepest slumber, allowing John to stream his quiet reflections without interruption.**

_NOT DEAD! How many times I hoped for THIS—that the Great Sherlock Holmes survived. Thought I was going insane _—_couldn't deny what I saw and thought was true. So, what DID I see?_

**Rolling onto his stomach John heaved a soft sigh into his pillow so as not to wake Mary.**

_I meant it when I said: "no one would ever convince me that you told me a lie"— your abilities WERE real. I knew YOU were REAL. NOT a fake! Except you faked your own death, you IDIOT! You faked me out too. You, the one person I most admired, trusted, believed in….! We're BOTH idiots!_

**He flipped onto his back and felt his rage rise as he remembered** **certain details from the evening: his hands had circled Sherlock's neck and could feel the rapid pulse. His assault had drawn blood. Even in that frenzied moment, he was overjoyed, an internal voice yelling—_corpses don't bleed!_**

**Recalling that thought vaporized John's fury. Immediately heart-wrenching relief replace it. **_Please, God, is it really true? Sherlock lives?_

**Staring up at the ceiling, his lips quivered, his chest heaved but whether with laughter or weeping, John was not sure.**

_You really are back—whole, intact—NOT an invalid!_

_SO, WHY I AM FUCKING FURIOUS?_

**_"Offended," Mary had said as she climbed into bed, ending their banter about Sherlock since they returned home. "Because you weren't his confidante," she had added._**

_Offended? Offended doesn't even begin to describe it, Sherlock. Of course I'm pissed. Who wouldn't be? I HAD BEEN your confidante._

**Blinking back tears, John turned his head toward the window, dawn would be lighting the pane soon.**

_On our first case, Sherlock, you said, "the frailty of genius is that it needs an audience." That stuck with me. Figured I was the "audience, the frailty of your genius needed." Was I wrong?_

**John sighed softly, flooded with wave upon wave of memories.**

_Thought you realized that social ties were not a bad thing—that friends protect each other—ironically, those were my last words to you in Bart's lab before I went dashing off to rescue Mrs. Hudson._

_Did you do that on purpose, Sherlock? Was it all part of your plan with your network of conspirators to get me out of the way?_

_Damn you! Why couldn't you trust me? How could you doubt me?_

**Throwing one arm over his head on the pillow, John couldn't believe Sherlock would question his integrity. Sherlock had many times shown that he greatly prized John for his trustworthy character and unswerving loyalty, especially since the friendless, consulting detective had never before found these attributes in anyone else.**

_Don' think you answered tonight WHY you faked your death. That answer slipped by. Maybe because I was so caught up with how many people were in on this oh-so-complicated hoax—except ME! Okay. Okay, for whatever reason, Mycroft, Molly, and 25 or so "street tramps" were your helpmates. I don't really get it. Hmmm, but **after**…**months after**, dya think to contact me? At least with one bloody clue?_

**_"…I wanted to so many times…"_**

_Bollocks! What an arse! You're the cleverest man in the whole world! You obviously didn't try hard enough, Sherlock. I'm supposed to believe what you said tonight! That you feared I might be indiscreet, "let the cat out of the bag."_

_Now, that's offensive. I wasn't good enough? No, not good. Not good, Sherlock!_

_So what went wrong? Did you simply not imagine the devastating effect your death would have on me …? Do you care that your absence left a terrible hole in my life?_

**Restless, John tossed to his side, closed his eyes, and curled his fists under his moist cheek.**

_Of course you wouldn't care. You're Sherlock! Can't let anything interfere: 'the brain's what counts; everything else is "transport!"' Wouldn't be so difficult for you._

_Just me. I cared too deeply—Hmmmmmm, still do….._

**His emotions were a pendulum constantly swinging back and forth, from one extreme to another.**

_Did you want to provoke me tonight, you git? Fucking hell you set me off, except you didn't fight back. You didn't _want _to fight back. You didn't want to fight ME._

**In the darkness, John Watson smiled despite himself.**

_You were really shaken—you actually looked surprised, upset. Didn't expect me to react like that. I was in such a blind fury—yeah, now I remember—it was that stupid mustache remark! Oh, but that was going too far!_

_And the nerve! Bloody hell, you told me tonight…_

**_"…London's in danger from an imminent terrorist attack and I need your help…"_**

_My help you need now? Not for two years ...and suddenly NOW?_

_Did you think we would pick up from where we left off? How could I? You'd gone off a ledge—and Jesus, a few times after, nearly followed! How close I came to giving it all up—because of you. So you thought time would JUST freeze until the Great Sherlock returned? Maybe, maybe if I had known …wouldn't have felt so hopeless._

_You may think I'm acclimated to violence and the trauma of war. Not true, well not completely, especially not the violence of your death. No. That was too much. To survive, I had to move on. Find something or someone to live for—boring to you, obviously. Fortunately, I found Mary, a Godsend of a woman, my Mary Morstan. (I will propose without interruptions next time.)_

**John gently reached for her hand, and smiled as she mumbled and turned over. Having unburdened his anger, he felt refreshed, even amused, and stifled the urge to giggle.**

_Heh, heh! Sherlock, your face looked so sheepish tonight, when you realized, after finally getting my attention as that bloody French waiter that your surprise had backfired. Guess I looked formidable in my shock. It was a shock—almost couldn't breathe. Felt like I was drowning._

**_"… bit mean to spring it on you like that. Could have given you a heart attack. Probably still will… In my defense, it was very funny…"_**

_Funny all right! Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack, Sherlock. How ironic. I die just when you've come back. And I wouldn't come back in two years to upset you. No. I'm not like that. Dead is dead with me._

**It was ridiculous. John chuckled silently at the absurdity.**

_But you do OWE me an enormous apology. 'Cept, not quite prepared to accept it…, yet. That's probably why I didn't react well tonight. Don't recall ever being in such a blind rage…You accused me of OVERREACTING! Noooooo…beg to differ, here. My reaction IS what normal human beings do, especially when a "friend" apparently faked a suicide._

_Just being honest. When it comes to you, can't be any other way. Since our partnership began, I've felt defensive, even protective about you. Not good at explaining this. Therapist mentioned something about "my trust issues, and painful fear of loss since Afghanistan." She suggested I'd transferred my sense of duty, loyalty, and allegiance from the service to you—maybe._

_I'm not trained as a psychiatrist, but I admit, what we had between us, you and me, was the strongest THING—yeah, don't know what to call it—I'd ever felt. I trusted you, like no one else!_

_Why? Who knows? Not that I hadn't been warned away from you. Despite what everyone was saying, I continued to work with you. I felt you wanted my help. Guess your addiction to thrills was something I shared a bit. Solving the most challenging cases was exciting stuff, but scary when you seemed to get your kicks by risking your life. I suspected sometimes you were only motivated to prove to yourself that you were clever—why you needed to prove that was anybody's guess. It made you very vulnerable, and here is the mystery: your vulnerability made me vulnerable._

_On the battlefield, you must be willing to support the mission and the team. It's inescapable. You become so protective, that others mean more to you than your own life. If they die, you will die. You feel the need to protect each other in any and every situation._

_Sherlock, you had become my best friend and my deepest responsibility. I had to watch your back. Only then, could I feel safe too. I certainly don't know if you ever noticed. Maybe you did. Maybe, you saw my concern when others tried to hurt you. That stare of yours, puzzling over my reactions like a kid learning to read for the first time. You're a child, Sherlock, when it comes to emotions._

**Remembering countless instances, John warmed once again to his perplexing friend.**

_Hard to believe, but true. You were picking up social cues, at least from me. I KNOW I am not wrong about that! So maybe you COULD SEE me, see me better than I saw myself. If socially challenged Sherlock could read me, then I must have been very transparent to everyone else!_

_Well, I couldn't expect to hide my horror. Not after what I just witnessed—your leap off the rooftop at St. Bart's._

**_"… a fake, John…"_**

_I was so obstinate about believing in you, that you were not a fake, maybe I refused to see when you were faking._

**_"…a magic trick…"_**

_Was that it, Sherlock? Were you trying to tell me not to trust the lie of your death? I've gone over and over and over those last words. They were hints, then? I didn't believe you would really jump, not the Sherlock I knew. Kept thinking you had another plan—so I was right about that—turns out you did, just not one that included me. Even so, I wouldn't listen to the lies from the rooftop. Then, the unthinkable happened….And after…after… after the fall, when I rushed to check your pulse, did I miss something? True, took a bad spill, cyclist hit me. Banged my head hard; concussed slightly._

_So, if this "final note" was actually you telling me that the suicide was a fake, the shock and grief made it too hard for me to understand. Pillock! I WAS the idiot 'cause I didn't get it._

**More tired than wired now, John felt the loose threads of his understanding weaving more questions than answers. There WAS something more to Sherlock's long absence, but now his mental fatigue from an emotionally draining day tangled his thoughts in knots.**

_So with Moriarty dead, who was so dangerous? What made you feel so threatened that you had to fake your death? A great sacrifice for you if it meant you had to withdraw from London. Why do that? Why leave the city you loved, the consulting work you craved, and yes, even the people you had begun to care about…Were you being watched?_

_Was I being watched?_

_It had to be a threat SO DANGEROUS that you didn't want me and my honest emotions "letting the cat out of the bag." Guess the real question was: if I discovered you hadn't died, how would I appear to these unseen enemies? Not grief stricken enough? What I lived through these past two years I could never have faked._

_Huh? Hmmmm. _**John yawned. **_Maybe, Sherlock, you knew my real weakness: that I was NOT good enough at faking my feelings when it came to you._

**Drowsiness blanketed John at last. He snuggled next to Mary. The heated argument with Sherlock, the one that would remain unspoken, was now over. He was feeling cool-headed and relieved, even content. As sleep drifted quickly over the weary man, his last thoughts were vague and disjointed.**

_…the most human... being I've ever known… another_ _chance to explain…, Mary likes you…_


	2. Chapter 2 Sherlock Holmes' POV

**CHAPTER 2: SURPRISE!**

Rejected by John, Sherlock learns something about human nature.

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"**_I'll talk him round," she had said with great confidence._**

"**_You will?"_**

"**_Oh, yeah!"_**

**Mary, introduced as Mary Morstan at some point during the evening, finally had grabbed Sherlock's full attention. Who was she? A lovely face **_(others would say)_ **surrounded in black fur collar and cropped blond **_(dyed) _**hair, pleasing dimples,****_Claire de la lune _****the dominant scent.**

**All night, Sherlock had observed how she mirrored John's body language. When he crossed arms, she crossed hers. He nodded, she nodded. He leaned in, she leaned in. She seemed to grasp innuendo with amazing insights and regularly punctuated John's thoughts with her sympathetic outbursts. As if she thoroughly knew the REAL John Watson.**

**She had been in the way, a mild annoyance, something to ignore, until she spoke those parting words, quietly so only Sherlock could hear.**

**In that instant, as Sherlock "scanned" her, confusing contradictions assailed him. **Part Time Nurse, Romantic, Only Child, Linguist, Clever, Bakes Own Bread, Shortsighted, Lib Dem, Guardian, Secret Tattoo, Appendix Scar, Size 12, Cat Lover, Disillusioned, Liar…_ Leave it to John to find another complicated person to latch onto. Wasn't one enough?_

_Distracting!_ **Sherlock shook it off. He was perplexed as he sat in his chair in 221B, with the lights off, letting the darkness envelope him. Rather than waste his efforts on _her_, he needed to focus on John. How could he have miscalculated his friend's response? **_I stopped being dead! I thought he would be glad. _

**With his covert operations complete, the 'dead' Sherlock Holmes had been resurrected at last and returned to London in high spirits, somewhat bruised and beaten for his labors, but recovered enough, it seemed, in body and mind to resume the Work. The added incentive of a high-priority case, neatly hand-delivered by his genius brother, allowed him to marshal his energy, file his travails in his Mind Palace, and make a fresh start. It couldn't have been more ideal, except all was not right, John was NOT back.**

_Disastrous reunion! Most surprised by the whole turn of events. The plan seemed so straightforward. Had no misgivings upon entering the dining room_**—**_until I saw him._

**Catching sight of his old friend seated at the table—oblivious to what was about to happen—Sherlock's confidence, like his breath, seemed suddenly sucked away. The assured smirk on his face was dissolved by apprehension. Mycroft's warning—ultimately prophetic —echoed.** **_"It's just possible you won't be welcome."_**

**In that moment, Sherlock faltered. The sudden insult of insecurity and fear tempted him to slip away unnoticed. Even from a distance, John Watson seemed different. Changed. As if the doctor HAD got on with life without him after all. Still with his eyes fixed on John, the true and deep realization that he missed his friend propelled Sherlock to resolve his flight-fright dilemma and continue with his rendezvous. What he needed was a disguise.**

**Distressed by the recollections of what followed, Sherlock brought his feet up onto the chair and hugged his knees. Shaking off his fears and removing Mycroft's imagined ridicule from his mind, he needed to explore the reasons why the evening's events with John went astray.**

_The entrance to the dining room afforded a good view. Although well dressed, except for the hideous mustache and slight stubble, John was nervous and distracted. My first endeavor to surprise him failed, but when he removed that small box from his inside jacket pocket, played with it, then tucked it away again, I knew my timing could not have been more propitious to intercede before he made a terrible mistake._

**Sherlock leaned back and reconsidered how the fiancée-to-be repeatedly tried to help calm John down, as if she supported their reconciliation. Her reaction was certainly atypical.**

_Mary Morstan may NOT be a terrible mistake…very distracting! STOP! Focus on John!_

_Obviously the disappointing outcome was merely the consequences of bad timing. My strategy to surprise him by unveiling my impromptu, but none-the-less clever, disguise would have worked if John were not so preoccupied with planning a proposal._

"**_Funny thing about a tux…it lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters…"_**

_Proposal _interruptus _did not go very well. __Misjudged the effects of my revelation. As it was, each of my attempts to bring levity to the moment resulted in John's increased hostility. Baffling. Don't think the results would have been any better received if I had popped out of a cake._

_By his own admission, Mycroft failed_ _to prepare John. It was the least my brother could have done, especially since it was predominantly Mycroft's plan. How hard could it have been to keep John from harm—or unnecessary social entanglements—until I returned? My brother's disinterest in retaining personal associations is at fault…if Mycroft actually _had _a friend, a pet, even a goldfish, he would have been more useful ….stayed in touch, something… I don't know… whatever-friends-need-to-have-done while their friends are gone._

**Sherlock rubbed his jaw.** _Blame myself for entrusting my concerns with an elitist snob who refuses to get involved._

**The restless detective snapped shut his eyes to maximize his visual memory, allowing the backs of his lids to replay the scene: **_John was bristling, even more than his mustache. Couldn't he see, the more we argued, the more absurd our dispute about keeping secrets had become? We were shouting at the top of our lungs. Everyone could hear. It was wonderfully ridiculous, immensely enjoyable—how I missed our raillery! Expected him to finally burst out laughing with me—like he used to do—when I teased him. Even Mary seemed amused._

**From the safety of his armchair, Sherlock grasped now: John was humorless. How clear it was in hindsight! Sherlock deliberately used his disarming smile when he reminded his former partner of their shared adventures; even tried luring him back with ****his**_** "thrill-of-the-chase" **_**speech**_**. **_

_Didn't work. That caused the third and last dramatic outburst. John stormed off to hail a taxicab and called Mary to join him. He would not look at me as they drove past._

**Rubbing his nose, Sherlock's ego had sustained the bigger bruise.**

_How did it go so wrong? I gave him his "miracle." I stopped being dead!_

**Sherlock caught the sound of his own whinging. He had based his plan on past presumptions about John. Had his usual behavior tonight put John off? **_Did John see my attempts as disingenuous, manipulative?_ _He above all else understands it's who I am. I rely on him to get past my social blunders that he was always so happy to point out. He knows my methods… _**Suddenly it became clear to** **Sherlock. **_Correction, _tolerated_ my methods and egocentric personality, until now._

**Sherlock was quite aware that his extreme sociopath tendencies—always so inappropriate in regular society—had free rein while he was on his mission. No doubt, his survival depended how well he could deceive and manipulate to accomplish his mission.**

**It was self-preservation. Difficult as the 'assignment' was, Sherlock was up to the challenge that submerged him in the amoral underworld and took him as far as the Serbian prison. He could not practice congeniality and correct social behavior while truant from the ****_John Watson School of Etiquette. _****Nor was it a surprise to him how easily he relapsed into old behaviors that distanced him from normal society, especially while he was geographically removed from it.**

**With the diversion of dismantling Moriarty's network and the great distance of his travels abroad, Sherlock put all his attachments to London "out of sight and out of mind." More serious work needed his attention. "John" was in a similar, but safe place. Loneliness was disavowed.**

**Two years later he had returned in triumph. Suffering Mycroft's taunting criticism was a small price to pay for this homecoming. It whetted his appetite to rejoin ordinary society wherein the enemies lurked and where the consulting detective with his faithful soldier by his side could battle again. Such was his great anticipation for the reunion with John that Sherlock was jubilant and heady, never expecting the unimaginable—rejection!**

_Oh, John!_

**Being apart had hurt them both. Sherlock backslid from his humanizing development, dehumanized by the baseness of his campaign to eradicate Moriarty, and John had shut off the world, closed down his sight, and apparently lost his deducing skills when Sherlock was lost to him.**

**As he pondered the complexities of human emotions and friendship, Sherlock admitted how little he understood people. Through John's mitigating** **counsel, Sherlock found stability and perspective. Like no one else his wise friend guided Sherlock through the confusion of layered social mores that contradicted logic and cold reason.**

**Over time, as their friendship grew,** **Sherlock noticed how they marched like soldiers in synch when the "game was on." For John it was subconscious, or perhaps, old "muscle memory" from his service. He didn't seem aware how easily he fell into step with Sherlock's gait and rhythms. Often Sherlock secretly tested his partner with variations in pace, but John would quickly catch up and match the tempo each time.**

"**_What are you smiling about, Sherlock?" John once asked innocently._**

"**_Oh, just thinking about patterns,"_****_Sherlock had answered after John had adapted five times to the taller man's deliberate modulations in stride._**

**It was a touching observation of John's subliminal connection that Sherlock valued beyond words—and as with all their profound feelings, was left unspoken. The consulting detective held great stock in John's loyalty and devotion, but doubts from tonight plagued him.**

_Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson reacted as expected. Well Molly knew, but all the same, she could have been sore at me for prolonging the "holiday." Calming Mrs. Hudson was a little more work than planned, but the outcome was achieved. My flat reopened, my place restored, dust where it belonged, and I am back…_ _but John is not._

_How did it go so wrong?_

**Scorn, Sherlock knew well, ridicule, abuse, antagonism, lately even torture…but John's rejection made him afraid. John was his driving force—John's safety was the reason Sherlock pursued his archenemy. John was the one he spoke to in his head and John's voice was the only one Sherlock welcomed hearing. Not willing to replicate Mycroft's aloof genius from Mt. Olympus looking down on mortals, Sherlock preferred to dwell among humankind and assimilate. He relished learning from John.**

**There was much to learn. John had explained that manipulating friends was wrong—it was an abuse of trust—although teasing was okay. At first, Sherlock had trouble discerning the difference, often combining the two in a form of abusive-teasing which John didn't like, being his one and only friend, but John never minded letting him know when the detective was crossing the lines of acceptable behavior. Mycroft was always abusive and teasing, the only model Sherlock followed growing up.**

_Was faking one's death an abuse of friendship?_

**At the "death scene," John's voice was distraught and tragic. Recalling John's grief-stricken face—keeping his eyes open in a death stare, Sherlock glimpsed what transpired—made the contemplative Sherlock sitting in the chair close his own eyes with measured sadness and sudden distress.**

_Is this where it went wrong?_

**At the cemetery, John's grief was palpable, resonating. It took everything in Sherlock's powerful arsenal of self-discipline to remain detached and resist the temptation. Should he have rushed forward and rewarded his loyal friend with an instant miracle? Then John would have been in danger.**

_Was there a time-limit to how long a friend remains a friend after they are dead? Have I lost my one and only friend?_ _What irony! Didn't lose John to an assassin's bullet; instead lose him through estrangement. In my carelessness, has our friendship been dissolved, not by force, but__ by time?_

**Losing John was suddenly a lonely prospect, an insurmountable mountain Sherlock was not prepared to climb, and it brought on a sudden and seismic shift in his self-absorbed ruminations. He realized all this time he had not been talking TO John, even in his head, for fear of John's condemnations. **

_That's where it went wrong tonight. Never gave you the reasons WHY. Never explained that what was supposed to be a few months became years. As time went on, the longer our separation, the more difficult it became to face up to this deceit. So, it was easier to let things slide…_

_Never intended to betray your trust. In hindsight, it was possibly the worst thing a person could do to a man with trust issues. Neither Mycroft nor I thoroughly considered or even imagined your suffering. We may impress others with our great intelligence and deductive "powers," but as you are well aware, we are idiots, woefully lacking depth and understanding of human affection. What we did—what I have done—was unforgivable._

_What I have done…!_

_Mere apologies are insufficient. You claim, John, you can't read my mind, and you don't trust yourself enough to understand my heart—which you alone have steadfastly asserted I possessed. You are right. I do have a heart, but the responsibility of yours I do not deserve, not yet._ I owe _you more than apologies for you to forgive me. I owe you proof of my trust._

**Sherlock grabbed for his mobile, but decided against texting or even calling. Even a self-professed high functioning sociopath could see that words alone would fail to make things better.**

_Given our last phone conversation,__that would be TOO cruel. Must wait. It's your choice now. Maybe your 'charming' Mary will succeed and "talk you round."_

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	3. Chapter 3 John's Friendship Demands

**CHAPTER 3: FIRST MOVE**

_When he arrived at 221B, what was John planning to tell Sherlock? What words were left unspoken by the abduction?_

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**Dr. John Watson was doing his best to listen to his patients. As he nodded, and prodded, and palpated then stated what was right, wrong, or merely a mild condition that would abate with meds, time, or a little of both, Dr. Watson noticed a pattern.**

_"__Boring!"_

**John shook his head clear of the whisper. He admitted he was less enthusiastic than usual today. Lack of sleep, compounded by the shocking resurrection of his dead friend just when he was about to propose to Mary, might have contributed to his lethargy.**

_Sherlock's alive!_

**Again, John shook off the distraction. Despite his early morning protests that he was not going to see Sherlock after work, sparked by Mary's teasing, John really hadn't decided. He couldn't decide. **

**Anger was his strongest argument against a revisit. **

**Giving credence to the adage "actions speak louder than words," John interpreted Sherlock's actions, or lack thereof—to include him in confidence about the faked suicide—as a loud and clear statement. John keenly felt the inequity of their friendship with this deceit and was deeply offended as Mary had suggested. Even more, John had shown his best friend absolute allegiance and trusted him like no one else. Sherlock apparently did not reciprocate. **

_You're not capable. Simple as that! I tried! I give up!_ _It might be best to keep our distance. Dunno! Maybe my standards are too high. Are my expectations that impossible? Can I work with someone incapable of trust—me with my so-called "trust issues?" _

**John shrugged.**

_All the same, I'm very glad you're back. _["Glad" was an understatement, an inner voice acknowledged.]_ Public opinion once again loves you, Sherlock, and you will be able to pursue case after case without me, so be it. _

**The good doctor's patient case load was dreary: undescended testicle, thrush, piles ….What John needed to help him focus—and keep nagging "Sherlock thoughts" at bay—was an extraordinary medical challenge, a case that would make him feel purposeful, a true test of his medical acumen. **

**As a dedicated physician with a commendable reputation, John cared for and about his patients who sought his medical expertise. Nor did he want his patients to suffer unduly, however, sometimes, maybe more often than he wanted to admit, he craved something more_…dramatic..._**

_Like Sherlock craved fascinating crimes…_

_Wait, wha? Whoa! _**John swiveled his office chair and pushed away from his desktop. **

_No! I'm not going to get pulled in. No! I have a life, a woman I love, and a normal job. I'm helping people in real and significant ways. No! Not going to chase after an insufferably clever man on intriguing capers of cloak and dagger and all manners of stuff, no matter how much the fate of the world might hang in the balance. Not again, no!_

**John tugged on his mustache—but felt instead his smooth upper lip.**

_Have I already been pulled in?_

**Today seemed a little off, slow, unimpressive. When he would look at Mary beseechingly, she would give him a Cheshire smile, and send in the next tedious case. He almost suspected she was doing it on purpose. **

_But why would she? Nah! These patients were scheduled days, maybe even weeks, ago. She helps with the rotation by sending patients to the next available doctor…Hmmm!_

**At the end of the day, his last patient was an old man who owned a local shop, long white hair spilling to his shoulders from beneath a knit cap, a musty smell from his clothes he'd likely acquired at a junk shop. The dark shades were a bit much. There was a sense of the preposterous about him, John noted as he nodded and listened to the burring accent and booming voice more fit for a stage performance.**

**The longer the fellow talked about his absurd book, magazine and dvd collections, the more John grew suspicious. **

_Sherlock?_

**Whether with sleight-of-hand, diversionary tricks, or ingenious disguises, Sherlock was a master at infiltrating the defenses of his acquaintances and foes alike, knowing precisely how to work their gullibility for his purposes. More than a few times, John fell for the masquerade, proving that he was just as gullible like all the other "idiots," when compared to his brilliant friend. Feeling embarrassed and quite bummed, John had learned to become thick-skinned when Sherlock surprised him with yet another disguise. Oddly, Sherlock didn't seem to think any less of John for not discovering his identity until the _GREAT REVEAL_. Rather like a child in costume, his eyes bright with pure delight, Sherlock always found it hilarious. **

_Like the French waiter act! _

**Last night, John was not thick-skinned enough for the shocking surprise. He was still having trouble processing Sherlock's revelation without ****anger simmering just below the surface**.

_FAKING your own suicide—was NOT FUNNY! It was beyond cruel. It was heartless!_

**The problem was John knew Sherlock had a heart. **

_It just doesn't make sense. Why would Sherlock have dismissed our friendship so carelessly. Look here! He's up to his old tricks again, posing as this ridiculous man, to extort my forgiveness in this crazy way. Whot! Take me for a fool?_

**John just couldn't hold back.** **"Jesus, Sherlock!"**

**"Huh?"**

**"What do you want? Have you come to torment me?" The ensuing scuffle was unprofessional, awkward, and loud. When Mary opened the door, John was making profuse apologies to the authentic Mr. SZikora****.**

**"It's fine!" John's voice squeaked with mortification in full bloom on his cheeks.**

**The blunder with the old man was pivotal in John's decision. Just as he found it difficult to get on with his life when Sherlock died, John could not get on with his life now that Sherlock lived. Not until they and their differences were reconciled one way or another.**

**Mary's encouragement in a warm kiss sealed his decision. After work, John's determined steps brought him to 221B, where he paused. It was hard to believe that it was just yesterday that he stood in the same spot to let some children pass. They were chanting "A Penny for the Guy" and wheeling their make-shift tot for Bonfire money. He had finally decided to visit Mrs. Hudson, announce some good news for a change, and put a ghost to rest. So much happened within the last twenty-four hours.**

_Sherlock, you still haunt me! But I won't let you ruin me anymore. You either accept my terms or our friendship ends. That's it. You can't go around breaking people's hearts and thinking that your absurd wink and bland apology is enough. No! It's not enough, mate! __So, you have a difficult time understanding human nature. (What kind of childhood you and Mycroft had, I will never know!) I believe, at least for you, there is hope._

_Nearly four years ago, you, yes you, turned my life around! W__hen I found myself floundering, there you were. You were it, you were what I needed to give me purpose. God help me, I can't explain why. Except, despite what people said, I saw that you were real__; you just needed a little guidance from a real friend._

_Most importantly, you wanted it to_o. Before long,_ we both knew we're good for each other._

_Are we still? Dunno._

_So these are my terms, huh? Our friendship must be mutual for me to continue. It hurts me too much otherwise. And don't try giving me lip service or fake it. No, you have to show me. It has to come from your heart. Can't think of any instances, right now, but I'll know when I see it. _

_May be asking too much from a person who borders on a nonsocial spectrum—you call it sociopathic. I am not convinced. You masquerade as a High Functioning Sociopath. It's your best disguise so far. You've convinced everyone and yourself you are one, but social quirks aside, you actually care __about others in your unique way despite your spectrum tendencies__. Makes me wonder if there were a childhood incident or loss that made you give up entirely on feelings so as not to get hurt again._

_Anyway, I think you are redeemable—just like you redeemed me. _

_Can't forget the reason I am here, though. It took two years to close the wound you left in my life. Don't know if I can survive another hit like that. So, if you can't genuinely understand that about me, then Sherlock, you'll have to find another assistant to carry on…simple!_

**John felt choked up, but resolved, as he squinted back tears and stared at the black lacquered door with the heavy brass hardware. **

_There, enough said! Will you let me in?_

**Gazing from the sidewalk at the numbers, John wondered if the door would swing open on cue miraculously. It remained shut. **

_Oh, well… already got one miracle…_

**John would have to make the first move. He would have to open the door and meet his old friend face-to-face. John also knew that whatever conversation they were about to share would have no resemblance to the conversation he just had in his head. Although ending their friendship was not John's intention, it ultimately would be up to Sherlock, whose actions would have to speak louder than any spoken or unspoken words.**

**Lingering on the pavement, John exhaled, re-imagining in that instant the reunion as it should have been: two friends smiling, thumping each other on the back, joyful hugs, tears of relief, and the consolidation of a partnership that could never die.**

**This celebratory imagine was momentarily jostled by a careless stranger who knocked into John without an apology.**

**"'SCuse you!"**


	4. Chapter 4 Sherlock Shows Signs

**CHAPTER 4: KINDLED**

_Rising to action, Sherlock makes a discovery about Mary, John, and himself_**.**

_0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000_

_Had time run out?_

**A deafening roar in his ears drove thoughts from the calculating mind. On instinct, Sherlock leaped off the motorbike and headed to the bonfire.**

**"Move! Move!"**

**Yelling John's name, he shoved through the pulsing crowd. Mary was not far behind.**

**Fire licked the outer planks with seductive fury, but the fury of the desperate man searching for his trapped friend was greater. Heat and flame yielded to Sherlock's persistence until he felt a human limb. "John!" he shouted again, and disappeared into the heart of the burning pile, digging for the person buried within. Seconds later he emerged dragging an unconscious victim free.**

_John! John?_

**With his heart pounding loudly, Sherlock could hear nothing, except a voice of frightening uncertainty:**_Can't be wrong! Is this John?_

**Sherlock gently turn over the unresponsive man. Flickering doubts were extinguished. "John!"**

_Can you hear me?_

**"John!" An unnatural coldness seized Sherlock as he studied his friend's closed eyes and forehead streaked with dried blood. Gently, Sherlock patted John's face.**

**With a roll of his head, John responded. His eyes flitted momentarily, heavy lids opened, struggled, then shut, but not before John's gaze locked on the worried face of his rescuer with full recognition.**

**Once his cold terror thawed, the sounds that had been muted sharpened and rose in volume. Sherlock could now hear Mary's anxious voice beside him as she doted over John, along with the piercing shrieks from the startled bystanders, and sirens wailing.**

_Just in time!_

**000000000000000000000000**

**For each of the bountiful sparks rising** like fireflies in the night sky, **Sherlock saw the important questions sizzle and flare.**

_Who would do this? _

_Why target John? _

_What was the reason?_

**Thermalling above the bonfire in constant succession, they demanded his consideration.**

_Was it attempted murder?_

_A deliberate message?_

_Who wants to draw our attention?_

_Who is the message for?_

_Attention to what?_

**During Sherlock's rescue efforts to extract John from the wood pile, alert bystanders had dialed 999 to report the incident. By the time the detective and the still-not-official fiancée stood protectively over John, it was just a short wait before the medical team appeared, but only the detective yielded to let the paramedics through. Undeterred, the fiancée held her ground, presumably fortified by her medical expertise to ensure John would be treated correctly. **

**As he silently waited to hear the paramedics' prognosis, more live cinders floated aloft to spark Sherlock's thoughts.**

_Who sent Mary clues to rescue him?_

_Why did they specifically contact me through Mary's mobile? _

_Did they know she would come to me with the encoded text message?_

_How could Mary know about skip codes?_

_Could she be involved in some way?_

**Sherlock heeded with extra care as Mary proficiently informed the responders at the scene. The possibility of her duplicity crossed the detective's suspicious mind. Yet his furtive scrutiny of her yielded that she was deeply concern for John, that her medical expertise was authentic, and that she was greatly distressed and surprised by his abduction. More deductions dissipated before he could discern them. This 'vaporizing effect' was an odd phenomenon he had in the past associated with agents undercover****—****rarely with ordinary people in society. Yet, Mary's one constant attribute that remained unmistakably clear and present, eclipsing all others, was the profound love she bore for John. The strength of this brightest truth caused all others to pale in comparison and then vanish. Sherlock had never encountered this before.**

**For a second time in as many days, Sherlock drew a reluctant conclusion: **_Mary Morstan may NOT be a terrible mistake._

**Smoke lingered in Sherlock's hair; the smell of burning wood tickled his nose; gloves had protected his hands, and at first glance, neither flesh no leather suffered real damage from the flames.**

_How about John?_

**Hissing and sputtering, the flames no longer roared whilst devouring the lumber with its effigy atop. The fire brigade called to the scene had doused the woodpile so the police could begin their investigation. Yet, for many Guy Fawkes celebrants the scheduled entertainment had already lost its luster in the light of a near tragedy. Onlookers drifted with curiosity and horror toward the ambulance to witness what would surely enliven their traditions with a great story for years to come: The year they pulled a live man from the bonfire!**

_A LIVE man, thankfully!_

**An oxygen mask had been put over John's face as he lay on the ground. A stretcher was pulled from the ambulance but left unoccupied until the paramedics could make a thorough check before moving the patient. They also needed to conduct their protocol to Mary's satisfaction. The preliminary exam was encouraging, however: "The patient would likely see a full recovery." The head wound was slight, scratches from the wood pile mostly. Grogginess, assumed to be from some anesthesia, still affected voluntary movements, for which the injured man would be transported to A&amp;E for examination and evaluation.**

**With that news, Sherlock's active role in the rescue was over, allowing him to detach himself from his responsibility for John. His friend was in good hands especially**—**he was now convinced**—**with Mary by his side. Shoving away his own sense of relief, Sherlock decided his skills were more suited to investigating the area than playing nursemaid to his injured friend. He wandered off to ponder the critical issues, to examine the smoldering bonfire for clues, and to hide his trembling hands.**

_Could Moriarty's network definitively be ruled out? YES! The percentage of certainty was extremely high, although the slimmest possibility still existed that one single strand of the spider web may not have been completely severed. However, this scenario was altogether different_—_John's death was not the desired outcome. Rather, it seemed a test. Most perplexing._

**Sherlock's quick text to DI Lestrade about John's abduction yielded the intended results. The official investigative team, comprised of fire inspectors and Met officers, were firmly instructed per DI Lestrade's specific orders to allow Sherlock to examine the scene with them. Despite their grumblings and hesitancy, Lestrade's orders forced them to cooperate. **

**Quickly, but methodically, and often by holding his breath from billows of smoke, Sherlock extracted samples of ash for later analysis from random areas of the woodpile, including the site from which he had pulled John. He suspected John was hidden within a pile different from the wood stack specifically delivered for the St. James the Less Bonfire, and this might offer insights about his abductors. ****As Sherlock poked through the rubble, an odd tingling and a shaking sensation in his hands persisted, despite his attempts to steady them with his stern stare and mental command.**_ Go away!_

**However, gathering evidence from the responsible parties in charge of the small Bonfire Night celebration was a painstakingly sluggish ordeal for the detective who already knew the tedious process of the police investigation. Once he had pocketed his ash samples, Sherlock stood silently, clutching his fidgeting hands behind him, and listened as the officials took notes and asked questions about the incident. At that moment, no one was asking, "Why Dr. John Watson?"**

**The investigative team ascertained that the community event had been planned weeks in advance. The St. James the Less Bonfire Committee had agreed to hold their Bonfire Night on the day before Guy Fawkes, as a fundraiser to ensure attendance from the locals who might otherwise attend more elaborate celebrations throughout London on the actual night. It was also slightly less expensive to have their delivery of the combustibles in advance. It had been scheduled for the day before and volunteers were involved in the actual construction of the bonfire the previous evening. As no one ever expected a living man would be buried under the tower of wood, the SJtL Bonfire Committee had not set up "security measures" to prevent tampering. **

**From these reports, Sherlock realized the bonfire was left unattended for short spans within the day. When John might have been apprehended and secreted within the bonfire could only have occurred when he left work…information he had not asked Mary during their frantic rush to rescue John. **

_When did John leave work? Why was he not with Mary when he left? They work together, wouldn't they leave together? For him to be apprehended, John must have left alone. Where was he going…?_

**In his quick glance meters away toward the ambulance****, Sherlock could see that John already exhibited improved movement in his head and arms as he was loaded onto the stretcher.**** Mary held his hand, and as best she could, remained at his side.**

_Is John up for questioning?_

**Sherlock hesitated and looked down at his hands, trembling still, for no apparent reason. **_Strange!_

**The wide array of stimuli that pumped Sherlock's adrenals and sharpened his responses to threats of all sorts when routing out Moriarty's network never made his hands tremble like this. **_Why was his body having this reaction? It was in crisis mode._

**Since his return, it had become painfully obvious that time had NOT stopped and waited for Sherlock Holmes. Rather, he was suffering a crisis of plunging self-importance as he attempted to acclimate himself to both the city and the people that had continued to progress without him. He realized he still clung to old memories, like a child clings to the string of a balloon that has broken free and lofted away.**

**After John's reaction the previous night, Sherlock contemplated whether his should detach and let his fondness for his friend float away as well. Yet, it didn't seem likely or possible for him to let go so easily; without hesitation tonight, he leapt at Mary's appeal for help to find John.**

**Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Something even deeper within him felt as if it were breaking.**

_ I "died" to protect my friends. You'd have been proud of me, but of course, WE didn't get to that the other night. _

**"SSSSSSherrrlock!"**

**Eyes snapping open, Sherlock saw Mary waving her arms and beckoning.**

_Something happened?_

**Alarmed, Sherlock took great strides and raced back. Mary stepped aside so Sherlock could grasp the raised hand of his friend. Squinting John lifted his wobbly head; his lips moved, but his voice was inaudible. Evidently frustrated by his uncooperative vocal chords, John swallowed, and with great determination, appealed with his eyes more than his voice as he struggled to say, "t….ankyuuuu…" A crooked smile was all he could manage.**

**The effort was fatiguing, and John's lids dropped again, his consciousness slipping into the hazy realm of a drugged sleep.**

**Releasing the relaxed hand, Sherlock laid it gently at the sleeping man's side. The paramedics moved efficiently to strap John's arms safely down as they lifted the gurney into the open ambulance doors. **

**Standing beside Sherlock, Mary's relief was palpable in her weary voice. "He'll be okay. Thanks to you. I'm riding with them to the A&amp;E. Will you follow?"**

**The hesitant look on Sherlock's face made her smile warmly despite her fatigue. "John left work early today because he needed to see you." **

**Despite Sherlock's impassive mask, Mary somehow read his concern anyway.**

**"He WANTED to TALK, not fight. Seems they grabbed him right outside your front door." She stood on tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "You will help us, Sherlock, figure out who and why?" Worry clearly visible in the furrow of her brow, Mary gently laid her hand on Sherlock's forearm with a surprisingly soothing touch. "And _PLEASE_ don't let John's shocked reaction, you know, make you think, you know, that he….could ever hate you." **

**Sherlock examined the enigmatic woman whose penetrating gaze seemed capable of unmasking him. LOVE, FEAR, LOSS ABOUT JOHN, he read in her features, but bowed his head in confusion, feeling as if a mirror had been held up between them, yielding his own reflection.**

**"He knows what you did tonight to save him." Mary said kindly.**

** Instantly Sherlock lifted his head, his eyes searching hers for clarification.**

**"Know I said I'd talk him round. Didn't have to." Mary paused as she studied the legendary man who had changed John's life. The legend stood as still as a stone statue. It was hard to tell if he was breathing. "Sherlock, he talked himself round." **

**Quietly within Sherlock's mind, a revelation about Mary Morstan took strong hold: he had found an ally, not a rival, in the petite blond woman with warm eyes and a charming smile.**

**"You're the genius of observation." She chided good-naturedly. "Can't you see? He missed you, he absolutely misses you." She laughed with relief. "Glad that's been said."**

**Sherlock nodded and looked away, wondering if Mary could interpret his unspoken reply. One thing was for certain, his hands were no longer trembling.**


	5. Chapter 5 Unspoken but Overheard

Unspoken 5

**CHAPTER 5: OVERHEARD**

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_**"When are you going to tell him?"**_

_**"What?"**_

_**"About WHY you faked it?"**_

_**"He knows."**_

_**"He doesn't really know. From the way he reacted, you didn't tell him everything, did you?"**_

_**"He doesn't have to know."**_

_**"Modesty doesn't become you!"**_

_**"Altruism doesn't seek praise...isn't that the idea?"**_

_**"In the ideal definition, yes… but human beings can't be purely altruistic. In the long run, the generosity of spirit has to be acknowledged. If it's not perceived, there can be no appreciation…**_

_**"So, if a tree falls in the forest, and no one hears it, it doesn't make a sound?"**_

_**"Sherlock! I'm not going to rehash philosophical arguments. You're the one getting involved… not I. Experts say to be successful at it, you must practice communication. It's a bother, because it means you have to listen and UNDERSTAND the other side. And if you don't, the other side gets hurt, or angry or suicidal..."**_

_**"Was John suicidal?"**_

_**"Surprised are we? What do you think?"**_

_**"That's the problem, I didn't think…."**_

_**"No, the problem was you were only thinking, not feeling. Don't give me your angry face! Sentiments, attachments, affections, are messy and distracting. We both know they are counter-productive to logic and reason. All those strings…entanglements…any sensible person can find it strangling—"**_

_**"Cut the lecture! Obviously, he didn't go through with it. How did he survive? Who saved him?"**_

_**"Fretting now are we, Sherlock? How sensitive you've become! Would you have preferred to have been his hero to the rescue? Rest assured, we were watching enough to intervene…well, at least when he was contemplating jumping off Bart's. If he chose another way, let's say poison or throwing himself in front a bus, something a little more private or spontaneous, we might not have been able to do much."**_

_**"What's wrong, Sherlock? You look queasy."**_

_**"Who saved him?"**_

_**"He saved himself. He didn't jump, not because he didn't have the reckless courage to do it…rather, because he decided he would clear you name first….(So, in a way, you were his hero. His loyalty to you saved him. Feel better?) My men heard him shouting something to that effect from the rooftop. It was an admirable decision on his part. We obliged. We kept him busy following leads that, bit-by-bit, exonerated you…the final story about your innocence broke just before you returned. Do you think that was coincidence? "**_

_**"You know, Mycroft. What we did to John was wrong and inhumane, I stress inhumane, something neither of us grasped. The plan should have included him eventually as we originally decided."**_

_**"Then he would have been dead from an assassin's bullet, one way or another. Moriarty's last command obeyed, your arch enemy would have won posthumously by killing your one and only real friend, along with Mrs. Hudson and Scotland Yard's Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade—everyone who befriended you."**_

_**"Not everyone…."**_

_**"Yes, Ms. Hooper was off their radar. As you recognized, their big mistake was our greatest advantage. Fortunately the only assassin who witnessed the faked death couldn't take the shot on Watson, thanks to our preemptive intervention, and he never communicated with the others. As long as you were thought to be dead, they would live. It seemed a horrible predicament: so many assassins waiting in the wings on orders to kill your friends if you so much as called someone to give him hope."**_

_**"It was too much to ask."**_

_**"Of him or of you? Oh, I see, for you both. If I had a heart, I would be jealous of this special bond you have with him. But, brother dear, that is the nature of self-sacrifice. It is hardship and heartache. Had he been told the truth of why you 'died,' he would've been proud of your selflessness…We both know you could only have learned such a noble trait from him."**_

_**"Angry, Mycroft, that your little brother doesn't emulate you? But of course, that would only be a problem if you actually cared."**_

_**"Perhaps, Sherlock, you should fault yourself for what happened in your long absence. It shouldn't have taken two years to clean up Moriarty's network."**_

_**"Thanks to you, I was virtually alone. I had to be thorough to bring down the intricate system and I was!"**_

_**"Are you sure? What do you think happened this evening?"**_

_**"It's not Moriarty. I am certain of that. This, this with John was different.…a tease… a test…. That's the only explanation I have for the way we were fed clues to rescue him."**_

_**"This once, I agree with you, brother. This was different."**_

_**"What more do you know of this?"**_

_**"The British government must keep some secrets from you, Sherlock."**_

_**"Will not tolerate any secrets that put John in jeopardy. You know what I'm capable of."**_

_**"Is that a threat?"**_

_**"A warning."**_

_**"Be content. You have your life back."**_

_**"Not completely. It's too late now, anyway. To survive, he moved on with Mary. He always had an eye for clever ladies, but Mary seems to be extraordinary in every way."**_

_**"Awww, pity you. You fear you've been displaced! Do you think human love is one dimensional? I'm told it is not. Apparently, ordinary humans have an amazing capacity to love in a variety of ways simultaneously: lovers, friends, parents, children, pets, even objects. (Actually, it is dizzying!) The mathematical phrase "exponential" is often used to explain it. It is the stuff of popular media…their world is passionate about it... If all this romanticized nonsense is actually based in fact, then you can keep your friendships if you know how."**_

_**"How?"**_

_**"You are joking, right? Oh! A rhetorical question? The 'how,' brother, is one thing I know nothing about! I told you yesterday, I am not lonely. I choose my solitude. It affords me the view I need to be above the rest with my superior intellect and my superior perspective. But the fact that there seems to be truth to this multifaceted emotion, I derive from observing you. You have friends you appreciate uniquely, Sherlock. You already demonstrate multidimensional affection. Why the long face, now?"**_

_**"'Don't know what you've got 'til it's gone…' to quote popular media."**_

_**"That applies to the safety of London. Keep in mind there is no time for languishing. The clock is ticking on the high-alert…"**_

_**"Working as we speak, Mycroft."**_

_**"Hope so. This is more serious than any of your silly concerns. Concentrate on it."**_

_**"Yet, you withhold information from me…"**_

_**"You're such a child! This is still about John, is it? Let me give you one tidbit of information [buzzzzz] about your friend John Watson and especially his charming lady… jeopardy comes in all shapes and sizes…[buzzzzz] Must take this call! Nevermind, Sherlock. Some other time, perhaps. First we must avert a real crisis. [click!] Hello, YES?"**_

_**"Mind games I could do without, especially those fabricated by you…off you go! Go on! Wave me away as usual, ever since we were children. Happiest, Mycroft, when you go your way. And don't SLAM THE DOOR ON THE WAY OUT! IT WAKES MRS. HUDSON!"**_

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**Martha Louise Hudson was still awake, sitting with yet another cuppa in her kitchen, when Sherlock came back to 221B. It was quite late, but she had been waiting up, overwrought with worry.**

**She had busied herself with cleaning away the fish and chips Sherlock had dropped as he bolted out the door with John's lovely fiancée. (Sherlock had called her as Mary.) But that was hours ago, and all she could do was pray, wonder, and hope. **_If anyone could find John, Sherlock certainly could._

**When she heard the familiar sound of the key in the lock and recognized Sherlock's rapid footfalls bounding up the steps to his flat, she made a firm decision. Even though she was in her dressing gown, she knew she couldn't catch a wink of sleep unless she went up to ask Sherlock if John was okay.**

**Before she opened her own door, however, the front door opened again and another slower set of footfalls mounted the stairs. They were also familiar, for a moment she hoped that they might be John's. Then she realized, **_How silly. John hasn't been living here for years._

**This thought propelled her even more to head quietly out to the stairs and listen. Maybe it was that nice Detective Inspector calling. Surely, he would have news about John. If she overheard what they had to say, she wouldn't have to bother Sherlock with her fretting.**

**At first she could only catch the sounds of soft voices, and inaudible words, until she heard the unmistakable exasperation in the raised voice, "Sherlock!' and recognized the posh accent of Mr. Mycroft Holmes.**

**Of course she knew better than to eavesdrop on any of their conversations. Softly, she crept back into her own flat, locked her door, and sat back in her kitchen chair, thoroughly disappointed. Her normal respect for everyone's privacy, especially theirs, wrestled with her growing curiosity. Then the thought struck her. If they wanted it to be private, they shouldn't be chatting in ordinary day voices. "Cut the lecture," she actually heard Sherlock say. Even though it was muffled, it was loud enough to seep through her ceiling. It became increasingly harder for Mrs. Hudson to resist the idea of listening.**

**Then, she thought about the cupboard where she kept her linens.**

**For such a long time, there had been a tiny crack in the ceiling. Eventually (heaven knows when!), she discovered plaster crumbs on her folded table linens on the topmost shelf and realized the ceiling must have broken off. Looking up confirmed this. It was hard to see at first, but a pencil thin beam of daylight through the floorboards from the flat above, bypassing the floor joists, pierced the darkness.**

**It was one small piece. She had always meant to get it fixed, but it was so insignificant that she never bothered to call a handy man for such a slight job. Over time, when Sherlock and John took residence above, she noticed Sherlock's violin playing would sound louder whenever she passed the cupboard. It would make her smile to think she could merely open her cupboard door to enjoy his wonderful music.**

**Astonished by her swift and driving compulsion to listen to the Holmes brothers talking above her, Mrs. Hudson opened her cupboard door and held her breath. In the silence of the nighttime, she could catch words and sometimes parts of sentences. To really hear, however, she needed to get closer to the ceiling. Within moments, she was standing atop her handy kitchen stool, and catching nearly all the words that drifted through her ceiling.**

_**"…the final story …your innocence…" **_**Mycroft Holmes had a soft, fluid voice and therefore was sometimes harder to hear. "**… _**think that was coincidence? "**_

_**"You know, Mycroft." **_**Sherlock's beautiful baritone was much stronger and clearer. He sounded angry too.** _**"What we did to John was wrong and inhumane, I stress inhumane, something neither of us grasped. The plan should have included him eventually as we originally decided."**_

_Poor John. _**Mrs. Hudson nodded** **in agreement**_. How he suffered, so._

_**"Then he would have been dead from an assassin's bullet, one way or another." **_**Mycroft's stern voice answered his brother with cold clarity.** _**"Moriarty's last command obeyed, your arch enemy would have won posthumously by killing your one and only real friend, along with Mrs. Hudson and Scotland Yard's Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade—everyone who befriended you."**_

_Huh? Oh, Sherlock! _**The shock of Mycroft's words distracted her momentarily. She quickly blinked back her tears, but apparently she missed Sherlock's reply, because Mycroft was talking again.**

_**"…As long as you were thought to be dead, they would live. It seemed a horrible predicament: so many assassins waiting in the wings on orders to kill your friends if you so much as called someone to give him hope."**_

_**"It was too much to ask."**_

**The sadness in Sherlock's voice was enough for Mrs. Hudson. She stepped carefully off the stool and closed the cupboard. It was certain now. She wouldn't get a wink of sleep with what she heard, and she still didn't know anything more about John's whereabouts.**

_Oh, John!_ **Mrs. Hudson sighed and wrung her hands. Now more than ever, it was important to find him. **_You should know Sherlock didn't abandon you. Maybe if you knew, it would set things right._

_**000000000**_

**When John finally woke up completely in the Emergency Department bed, Mary greeted him with a delighted smile and a warm kiss**_**.**_

**"You're awake, John?" She exclaimed. "Wonderful! They said it would be soon. I imagined you might be hungry when you finally felt clear of the anesthesia. Good timing. I've just got us some takeaway."**

**"Thank you, Mary," Propping himself up, John flashed his most appreciative smile and instantly realized he had regained control of lips, along with his voice. The paralysis from the sedative had definitely worn off. John looked around. Even this late at night, the bustling A&amp;E was arrayed with caseloads of pre-Bonfire Night mishaps, inebriated revelers, and assorted misfortunes that required medical care.**

**"Is Sherlock here?" John's nonchalance was all too transparent.**

**"He was, briefly!" Mary couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in his eyes from hope to disappointment when he realized he had missed him.**

**"How are you feeling?" She asked to change the subject. Although her smile was radiant with relief, her eyes were bright with tears that she palmed away quickly.**

**"Actually, much better, very much improved…little achy here and there…" Touched by her courage and devotion, he met her gaze with a tender expression that rendered her speechless. Wordlessly, he clasped her hand, kissed it, and matched her joyful expression with his own.**

**Boldly, Mary leaned forward and whispered passionately in his ear. "As soon as they discharge you, I want to get you home…!" Ruffling his smoky hair, she kissed him lightly and returned to the packaged takeaway to retrieve some chicken wraps and hot beverages.**

**"Tea or coffee?" Mary asked.**

**"Hmmm, uh! What time is it? For that matter, what day is it?"**

**"It's after midnight, actually closer to 1 a.m. Now, it's the fifth!"**

**John chuckled. "I don't care. Doesn't matter! Coffee is fine! Think I've had enough sleep!"**

**"Now, that's my John! Alert and decisive! Be careful. It's piping!" Mary beamed happily as she handed John the cup. "Don't want to burn you now with hot coffee! Especially after that scare you gave us."**

**Beyond Mary's cheerfulness, John noticed the genuine worry in her face. It was still unclear to him what had happened after he collapsed from the sedative. Memories were beginning to return. The discomfort of lying on wood, the smell of smoke, the blaze of fire encircling him—that he couldn't yell for help was frightening. A familiar voice calling him, arms grabbing him and dragging him—eyes lock—Sherlock! How did he know? How did he get there? Mary was also crying his name.** **John felt humbled in the face of what he presumed was their dramatic rescue.**

**"Soooo…" After a long pause, John addressed the burning question. "Do we know what the hell happened to me? And why?"**

**"John…" Mary sighed and shook her head. "No, not yet. Lots of questions. Still no answers, but Sherlock," immediately she wished she hadn't mentioned his name, because John looked mortified. "He cares, John…he wants to help."**

**Shaking his own head in disbelief, John's brows were furrowed with confusion, hurt, and frustration. "No. I can't fall to his charms again."**

**"But he saved you. He figured it out! And he got us there before…if it wasn't for him, you wouldn't be here with me now."**

**"I know."**

**The pain that made John wince, Mary knew, was not from his physical injuries. He wanted Sherlock back in his life as much as Sherlock did. But he was afraid to hope.**

**"Please, please, John. It's true. You'll see. It will all turn out okay." She knew she was speaking platitudes but she also felt worn down by the night's ordeal. "I'm too tired to explain everything right now. The police are investigating, and they have some leads to follow… and …."**

**"Doesn't sound encouraging," was John's gruff reply. "Never sympathized with Guy Fawkes, until now." Like storm clouds gathering, his face grew dark with anger. "How is it, Mary, that Sherlock Holmes walks back into my life for one bloody day, and suddenly, I'm tossed like a rag doll onto a wood pile that is set on fire?"**

**"Why don't you go ask him yourself." Mary chewed her lower lip and turned away to hide her fear. John and Sherlock needed to be reconciled, to be friends again, because if they weren't… well, her life would be much more complicated when she needed them both.**

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	6. Chapter 6 One Word

**CHAPTER 6: ONE WORD**

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**"**_One word, Sherlock, was all I would have needed..." John had shouted. "One word to let me know you were alive." _

_Now that Sherlock had returned, what one word did John need to hear to keep their FRIENDSHIP alive?_

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**Twisting around to see who had just walked up the steps and into the flat, Sherlock Holmes blinked in astonishment.**

**"John!" **_John? HERE! NOW? NOT LIKE THIS! Not with them!_

**For mere milliseconds, the consulting detective remained immobile; his feet planted atop the center sofa cushion where he stood to inspect his information wall. The elderly man and woman, who were seated on the flanking cushions, were looking up; the woman chatted matter-of-factly about their London visit. When Sherlock uttered John's name in deep and quiet surprise, their conversation halted.**

**For another sequence of nanoseconds, three pairs of eyes stared at the unassuming man standing in the threshold.**

**"Sorry!" John Watson hesitated, genuinely apologetic, but instantly disappointed. **_Can't have company! Spent the whole morning rehearsing what I need to say._**"You're busy."**

**Lightning quick, Sherlock reacted. "Er, no, no no! They were just leaving!" Somewhat roughly, Sherlock grasped the older woman's left arm and pulled her off the couch. **_Got to get them OUT! Must talk to him—alone!_

**"Oh, oh! Were we?" She seemed dismayed by his abruptness.**

**"Yaaaaas!" Sherlock insisted nimbly steadying the woman he had yanked to her feet. Her tall companion rose obediently.**

**"No. No…" John let his voice trail. "…if you've got a case…?"**

_No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no!_

**Watching Sherlock frenetically shove the departing couple toward the door was disturbing and amusing; John side-stepped, barely avoiding the oncoming crush.**

**"No! Not a case! **_Please don't utter a sound, NEITHER of you! You'll give yourselves away!_

**It was not hard for John to understand that Sherlock—failing miserably at being blasé—wanted to empty the flat so they could talk. **_Good. He knows we need to talk. Need our privacy. One time, might have intervened for the sake of civility. Not this time. No, sorry. Not going to postpone this anymore. Not going to let anyone or anything get in the way…._

**"No, no, no…!" Sherlock's thoughts were a whirlwind of perseverating monosyllabics, and in the commotion, juggling what he could say aloud and what should remain in his head took skillful maneuvering. "Go. GO!" **_Not good, not a good mix! Get out before you ruin everything!_

**"Yeah, well, we're here 'til Saturday, if you remember."**

_DON'T BOTHER ME RIGHT NOW WITH TRIFLES! "_**Yes. Wonderful! Just GET out!"**

**To filter out the ruckus caused by Sherlock and the couple, John did the respectable thing. He ignored them. Although he pretended to examine the array of photos, articles, and diagrams covering the wall, he actually utilized the time to rehearse in his head what he was preparing to say. **_Came to see you, willing to listen, wanted to give you a chance to explain…_

**"Give us a ring," the woman insisted.**

**"Yes. Very nice, good. Get out!" Sherlock was doing his brusque best, even more rudely than usual, to eject the couple. Immediately slamming the door proved futile, however. A well-placed foot encased in a sensible woman's shoe blocked the threshold. **_Clever woman! Should have anticipated this!_

**Sherlock's crystal blue-grey eyes were matched in intensity by the crystal blue-grey eyes of the white-haired woman.**

**"I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time people thinking the worst of you." She was speaking softly, but to the detective's acute senses, she might as well have been shouting at the top of her lungs for John to hear**. _(Oh, the trouble this will cause, Shut Up! Shut UP!) _**"We're just so pleased it's all over."**

_Still have __SOMEONE __who __THINKS __the __WORST __of me, unless you remove yourselves so I can change his opinion._

**The door shuddered several more times against the immovable shoe. Sherlock fidgeted, glancing nervously at John who had politely wandered to the opposite side of the room—but perhaps, not completely out of earshot.**

**Successfully blocking out the doorway whispers, John continued with his speech. **_So, yesterday, guess I was putting our friendship on the line. Had an ultimatum. Cuz, so many things didn't make sense—at least to an ordinary man like me. Had thought I was your "friend and confidante." You were mine. Your death…nearly killed me. Then you just show up. Everybody knew but me. Maybe NOT everybody, but I needed…I thought you owned me…an apology…a real apology, not some flippant, oh-get-over-it-John kind of sorry._

**"Ring us more often, won't you?" The kindly man interjected. "She WORRies!"**

**Introspective and focused, John bowed his head, arms clasped behind him as he wandered toward the window. **_Got a call from Mrs. Hudson this morning. A bit odd. Wanted to make sure I was okay, she said. Surprised me. Didn't think she had my number since we didn't talk for almost two years. Said she got it from you when she asked you about last night. But then, what she told me. What she said she overheard. Well, I believed her. Admit it was hard to believe, but I did, I did believe her, because I believe in you. You put your life on the line-you didn't have to die literally to do it-still you "died" to protect your friends. That was a good reason. Very good reason. And last night, you saved me again. How furious I was with you the previous evening. You didn't hold that against me. Mrs. Hudson said you didn't abandon me then, and you certainly didn't last night._

**Frustrated, Sherlock glanced toward the preoccupied doctor, willing to do anything to speed up the couple's closing remarks and encourage their departure. **_Why is he here? What is he going to say? That I broke faith, that I broke my …_

**"Promise?" The woman held motherly power and persuasion in her plea.**

_Hmmm? Oh Yes…you're still here…? What else do you want from me? You can have Mycroft ring you more often. He can tattle all he wants. Oh, well, okay…if it makes up for…everything._

**"Promise!" With the nod of his head, Sherlock whispered his acquiescence. Gently, the women caressed his cheek, a warm smile on her face.**

**"Oh, for God…!" Immediately, Sherlock recoiled with the embarrassment of a petulant child and managed to shut the door in their faces.**

_Deep Breath! Now breathe!_

**Gazing out the window, John was in full concentration: **_When we first met, I was warned. "Arrogant, obnoxious, an arse," they said. They called you "heartless, abrasive, inhuman," yeah, and "extraordinarily brilliant." And you didn't care what they thought.. But I saw glimpses of a different side. The Sherlock, who masqueraded as the indifferent ice man, who spurned friendships and emotions, was the fake. This Sherlock, the man who spent two years of his life putting friends before self, is real—you make me proud to call you my best friend._

_Some think your eccentricities are characteristics of a spectrum disorder. You are so hard to pin down sometimes, who really knows? With sensory and nervous systems wired differently than most people, you probably had to learn to compensate. I think it's the reason you are so extraordinary. But you have worked hard to hone that genius even more. I have watched you discipline yourself like no other man. But now that I've seen you ARE capable of compassion, I figure I owe you an apology__—__for not trusting your motives enough….huh?_

**Sherlock's sigh made him turn.**

**Both men, appraising the other, thought simultaneously. **_What now?_

**With his back to the door, Sherlock gave an awkward wave. "Sorry about that!" **_Maybe I __should let him start. Don't know how much trouble I'm in. Might as well hear him out, so I'm not admitting to more than what he has on his list of denunciations?_

**"No, it's fine." John found himself stalling with the usual small talk. **_No point in rushing into it. Pace yourself, John. Casual is good; ease into this slowly. "_**Clients?"**

_He says "it's fine…" Is it? Until he finds out who the "clients" are…Will it remain fine? Must be honest. Don't alienate him with deceit. Simple question. Simple answer. _**"Just my parents!" Sherlock crossed the room, maneuvering to observe his friend better. John's presence in the flat was both comforting and familiar, but his yet-undisclosed motives made Sherlock wary.**

**"Your parents?" **_Wait! What?_

**"In town for a few days..." **_So he's surprised… hmmm… could be a fortunate distraction!_

**"Your parents!" **_And Mycroft's parents? In the flesh? You actually have parents, real human beings? That perfectly unremarkable couple…the one that was just sitting on the sofa here?_

**"Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of **_**Les Mis**_**. Tried to talk me into doing it." **_Taken off guard? Good. This might actually work in my favor. Might keep him off unpleasant topics …avoid confrontation of everything disagreeable altogether … possibly bypass all the emotional baggage quickly so we could resume our work._

**Curiosity got the better of John who advanced to the window for a better look. He observed the white haired couple emerge at the ground level and begin searching about for a taxi. **_Unbelievable! Common, average people….Sherlock's parents! _**"Those were your parents?"**

**"Yes." **_What's he getting at? What did he expect?_

**"Well!" Still looking out the window, John watched the woman hail a black cab****with a commanding wave of her arm. A decisive Mrs. Holmes beckoned Mr. Holmes to hurry. Within moments they had climbed in and transported away. **_Don't let him see you smile. Be diplomatic. Don't want to hurt his ego…but…!_

**Enforcing exceptional patience, Sherlock took the moment to study his engrossed friend—the companion he missed was standing within arm's reach— a handshake away—yet, the consulting detective restrained amiable overtures for fear the current calm would give way to the great turbulence of John's indignation. John, on the other hand, seemed inordinately taken by the idea of his parents.**

**Masking his grin with a puzzled face, John turned toward Sherlock, admitting, "that is not what I…" Quickly, the doctor looked away under pretense of checking the pavement below. **_Don't know why this hits me as funny! Incongruous! Nothing I would have predicted…but, just imagining their family dynamics…! Stop it, stop it, shouldn't be laughing! Stay serious…_

**"What?" The consulting detective's voice grew hesitant. **_Past calculations for the rate of frequency and the ratio of taxis on Baker Street means they have probably caught a taxi by now and are off to their next stop, so ….what ARE you looking at, John?_

**"I …I..er mean that they're…just…so …" John struggled to compose his face, offering a blank expression as substitute. **_He knows when you lying, you might as well spit it out._

**Sherlock inclined his head, with a defensive tilt, his eyes searching John's.**

**"…ordinary...!" Under Sherlock's scrutiny, John succumbed with a nervous laugh. **_Talk about letting the cat out of the bag!_

**The extraordinary youngest son of seemingly ordinary parents raised his eyes in feigned misery: "It's a cross I have to bear!"**

**Humor at last broke all defenses, and John burst into a great chuckle that made Sherlock smile.**

_…__like old times. _**Again, their unspoken thoughts synchronized. **_Before …_

**Abruptly, the doctor's laugh ceased as he pivoted toward Sherlock. Eyes narrowing, John's voice grew husky with pain.**

**"Did they know too?"**

**Shamed by the open anguish on his friend's face, Sherlock lowered his eyes, sadly silent. **_Seems indefensible now, John, yes. I know. The excuse that assassins were waiting was true, but it is a poor excuse for my not being more cunning than my nemesis and not giving you a clue…something only you and I would know, something to give you hope. Regrettably, it was easier to focus on Moriarty's network and not consider what I left behind._

**"Hmm?" The ache intensifying, John's anger simmered beneath his question. "That you spent the last two years playing hide-n-seek?" **_This is pissing me off again. Wait! Stop it! Stop it now! What am I saying? Stay calm. Remember, he was trying to protect me…but ooooh, this is more salt in a festering wound._

**Appearing coyly distracted, Sherlock picked miniscule debris off his laptop. **_This is it…the confrontation with John. The unavoidable storm is coming… what to do? Levity didn't work last time…? _ **Without looking up, he gave the best answer he could muster. "Maybe."**

**"AHHH! So that's why they weren't at the funeral!" John exploded more bewildered than angry now as he stomped off his frustration by pacing the room. **_I'm NOT overreacting! That I could have been spared the misery, like others were, enrages me…rationally, of course your parents would know from Mycroft, but should I find out relatives of all sorts: cousins, second cousins, aunts, uncles the entire Holmes clan—had more right to know than a mere flatmate—which is all I was, I guess—along with your confidantes: Molly and a team of 25 or so…Errrrrrrr!_

**"Sorry," Sherlock shouted back with intense exasperation as he followed his friend with his eyes. "Sorry again!" Even to Sherlock's ears, his "sorry" didn't ring true**_. Don't ruin this now. There is nothing stopping him from marching right out the door. You have not offered him any reason to stay, and then,… what will you become without him?_

**A chasm stretched between them. On one side, menacing storm clouds of unresolved anger hovered over the beleaguered John who, aggrieved by feelings of betrayal, had clenched his fists and shut his eyes; on the other side was a deserted landscape, cast in shadows, where Sherlock stood alone to deal with his doubts and fears. Across this abyss, while their unspoken arguments battled, Sherlock kept his eyes riveted on John.**

_Observe John, figure it out…what is missing here?_

_Christ, Sherlock! Can't let you manipulate me with my own hopes. Maybe you really don't know how to care.. Maybe you can't. Stop this now, this... this pretending. Either include me... or let me go!_

_For the cruel and inexcusable oversight of the past two years, John, I deserve your rage. Yet, to lose your friendship over this would be worse. How will I become the better friend you seek if you abandon me?_

**The silence separating them broke on one word.**

**"Sorry."**

**The one word, spoken the way John needed to hear, crossed the divide on a tender whisper. Filled with genuine remorse and heartfelt vulnerability it was the real voice of Sherlock Holmes, healing, and caring without pretense. The force of this "sorry" took John's breath away. Their eyes met, held, looked away.**

**In that instant as John exhaled, his anger evaporated and forgiveness filled the void. It was that simple. The real "sorry" was so understated but enriched with emotional depth that John felt embraced by its sincerity. An enormous sense of gratitude swept over him, and the need for his prepared speech seemed suddenly unnecessary.**

**"See you shaved it off then?" **_If he doesn't punch me now, we've made progress._

**"Huh? Yeah." **_Testing me with the mustache 'button' are we? Well, I won't react. "_**It wasn't working for me." **_Funny, I am not pissed off now._

**"I'm glad." **_Cleared that hurdle._

**"You didn't like it?" **_Not really fooling you, pretending I don't know, am I?_

**"No. I prefer my doctors clean shaven."**

**Taken aback, John gave Sherlock a sharp look. **_What doctors? _**A giddy smirk and teasing smile was all he could see on the detective's face.**

**Still puzzled, John checked out his armchair, "It's not a sentence you hear every day," and sank into the familiar cushions as if he had never left, slapping his gloves onto the side table where he let them rest.**

**Sherlock's smirk dissolved as soon as John sat where he always belonged. **_John, you're in your chair! We are conversing without fists! …are you really back?_

**On the edge of hope, Sherlock remained poised, not sure which way he should proceed. **_Lighthearted retorts? Teasing banter? Witty remarks? Engaging John on a case? Or rather, what would John want…? What am I truly prepared to offer him?_

**"How are you feeling?" For a second time in as many minutes, Sherlock unmasked earnest sincerity that softened his rich voice.**

**Its effect on John was restorative. It blew the remnants of John's resentments and his prepared reconciliation speech out of his mind for good. **

**"Yeah, not bad..." John quipped, glancing away evasively until his emotions were in check. Finally, hoping the detective might clue him in about whether his life was still in danger, he raised an honest and abashed face toward his resurrected friend. "A bit…smoKed." Apprehension lingered in the way John landed on the hard sound of the "k" and slid his glance sideways.**

**"Right…." Sherlock understood John's worry and kept silent about his own. Nor was he certain that the danger of John's anger had truly passed and braced himself for more turbulence by the wronged man whom he wanted back as his friend. He stood before John's chair, feeling much like a client awaiting an answer.**

**"Last night. Who did that?" **_Forget it, Sherlock,_…_what's done is done, Got to move on..._

**Sherlock drew in a relieved breath. **_John, are you letting it go? Giving me a __stay of execution?_

**"And why did they target me?" **_That was then, this is now and the now has me worried._

**"I don't know." Sherlock pursed his lips with concern, his gaze turned inward to peruse his Mind Palace.**

**"Is it someone trying to get to you through me? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?" Speaking from his chair, Dr. John Watson found a strange comfort in the realization that he would always be linked to the renowned Consulting Detective. Why else was his life suddenly in danger now that Sherlock returned? And stranger still, he couldn't shake off the thrill it gave him.**

**"I don't know. I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous."** **Sherlock kicked into gear, ready to embrace the reconciled doctor—his friend—in **_**The Work**_**: **_Progress made, but n__otice you still haven't said you forgive me. Will resolve this later when the time is right._

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	7. Chapter 7 Unspoken: 2m:30s On the Brink

**CHAPTER 7: ON THE BRINK**

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**Once they went through the locked gate and down the winding staircases of the Underground at the undeveloped Sumatra Road siding, the former army doctor and the consulting detective pointed their torches, piercing the gloom of the abandoned station with two slender beams.**

**During their descent, they traveled side-by-side without speaking, but John's thoughts were anything but quiet. Background chatter he could not filter out—unlike his genius friend who was absorbed by **_**The Work**_**—filled him with amazement.** _Dunno! Look at this. Wouldn't have believed it forty-eight hours ago!__Back __with Sherlock Holmes…alive and kicking, he is… on a case! Couldn't resist him. Didn't want to…It's where I belong. Need to guard his back. Won't fail this time!_

**Spiraling down the steel steps, John's spirits were lifted. The rhythmic clang of their footfalls on metallic treads was like the beat of drums for battle. The sounds stirred the soldier within him and marshaled his pride for the privilege of service that had too long lay dormant. **

**Tracking alongside, Sherlock moved with extraordinary tenacity like a bloodhound keen on a scent. Tireless and focused, he mentally sifted through the information he had stored about the imminent terrorist attack, retrieving, culling, and ultimately eliminating anything not pertinent to the case. **

**Only one unrelated aspect he chose not to dismiss-the subliminal pleasure of John's company. His friend with the grand gift of silence had not hesitated to join him on the investigation. That awareness, distracting as it was, heightened Sherlock's exhilaration. **_How I missed this! _

**Pleased that he could keep up the pace—after two years of inactivity—John replayed Sherlock's comments in his head.**_**"You have missed this. Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the world…"**_ **These words, spoken days ago, had sorely aggravated him, because deep down, he knew they were indisputably true**.

_Here I am. My blood pumping, thrilled by the chase, just the two of us, exactly as he said. Why do I even bother to dispute it. As__ bloody usual, __Sherlock is always right._

**Except Sherlock wasn't right about finding the missing carriage parked at the station. When they had reached the platform, it was empty—there was nothing to see.**

**"I don't understand."**_Not possible, not possible, not possible!_

**"Well, that's a first." John wryly commented on his friend's surprise.**

**"There's nowhere else it could be."**_Can't be wrong…think! What makes this location logistically relevant?_

**Squeezing his eyes shut, Sherlock concentrated.**

**To an outsider, his trance was seizure-like, often complete with limbs waving, hands trembling, and vocalizations of unintelligible words. To his friend, it was the precipitous moment before an astonishing revelation, and John had never stopped being amazed.**_Yeah! Missed this, too!_

**Blocking out distractions, Sherlock created possible scenarios in his mind, quickly deducing a tunnel of fire and the explosive disaster to Parliament as the final outcome. "OH!" The vision spurred him toward the tunnel on his left.**

**"What?" John steadfastly followed without waiting for an answer until Sherlock leapt off the platform and onto the tracks.**

**The doctor halted requiring practical reassurances. "Hang on, Sherlock?"**

**"What?" The detective's voice was flat, but surprisingly patient.**

**"That's…! Isn't it **_**LIVE**_**?"**

_Ahha! The voice of common sense! Your forte, you obviously haven't lost it after all this time._**"Perfectly safe," Sherlock assured, adding some vital qualifiers "…as long as we avoid touching the rails." Undeterred, the hound had found the scent again. The pack would have to follow.**

**"Of course! Yeah! Avoid the rails! Great!"**_Not so capable of turning off worries like you, Sherlock! But can't let you go it alone._**The swift progress of the long-legged detective left John no choice but to jump down in spite of his fears of electrocution by rail.**

**"This way!" Without a backward glance, Sherlock used his commanding voice to encourage his friend. Inwardly Sherlock smiled. **_May have had moments of doubt on the platform, but I didn't doubt you'd stay with me, John._

**"You're sure?" **_Don't meant to doubt, but kinda hafta trust you know what you're doing._

**"Sure!"**_ You question, but still you trust._

**Attuned to all clues ahead, Sherlock listened to John's quickened his pace , as he caught up. Side-by-side once again, they searched the tunnels and infrastructure in silent expectation; both were bolstered by the presence of the other, though neither saw the need to verbalize what was perfectly understood. Deep in thought they walked the rails toward certain danger. Each housed the same unspoken motives: to avert disaster and to save innocent lives.****With their senses on high alert, the two had traveled a short distance before John spotted the carriage nestled in the bend of the tunnel; "Ah! …..Look at that!"**

**"John!" Sherlock had paused to look up and used his torchlight to show his friend the series of explosives strategically attached to the high walls above.**

**"Emission charges!" John nodded, acknowledging that the gravity of the situation had seriously escalated. For several seconds, the consulting detective and his doctor stood still on the tracks, concentrating their torch beams on the tube carriage that sat, dark and silent, a short distance away.**

**In that brief pause, memories of Afghanistan exploded in John's mind—**_**deafening sounds of rocket-propelled grenades, explosions ripping the air, dust and sand propelled by blast winds, comrades blown apart. Under fire, the duty-bound army doctor had raced to rescue the wounded, with no thought for personal peril, while dodging shards of metal the size of fists flying in every direction…and then ultimately, the searing pain that took him down and swallowed him in darkness.**_

**As John vividly relived details in the rush of milliseconds, real fear gripped him. A voice in his head pleaded. **_Not again! Life is good now. Have Mary to live for…a future…Must turn back now and report this to the authorities. Can't handle this terrorist threat single-handedly. No one, except maybe Sherlock, would hold it against me. _

**A stronger voice gave challenge.**_In or out of uniform, I have sworn to defend and protect—to do my best. May die trying, but countless lives are at stake. MI6 intel gives us an advantage we cannot ignore. Retreat is not an option if we can forestall or thwart the attack. We must push on._

**The final, compelling reason arose from deep within: **_Couldn't live with myself if I deserted him now._

**In the tunnel where he stood beside Sherlock, the soldier fought and won his private battle. John's courage answered the call to service and duty, while his loyalty to his friend drove him forward to combat their new enemy together. Without uttering a word of protest, John exhaled and fell into quick step with his partner.**

_Extraordinary courage, he displays. Must make sure he survives this. _**The detective silently promised himself as he observed the quiet turmoil in his partner. While Sherlock had analyzed their chances even before they left Baker Street, (there were eight possible scenarios with several already in play), he was less apprehensive than John about the futility or fatality of their mission. **_W__hilst there's always a remote possibility I might have miscalculated… John is the braver man. He's not aware of these potential options for escape and rescue, and still he accompanies me_**.**

**Within the compartment of the dark carriage, sleuth and doctor trod carefully as they made cursory inspections. John was the first to declare with hesitant relief what he was hoping to find. "It's empty. There's nothing." **

**"Isn't there…?"**

**Sherlock's answer sent chills down his spine.**

**The telltale wires Sherlock had followed were unmistakable as he ripped back the seat cushion. "THIS is the bomb."**

**"What?"**

**"It's not carrying explosives. The whole compartment IS the bomb." Uncovering seat after seat, Sherlock didn't need to tell John this was "not good." This discovery was perplexing, but as the seat components of the bomb were not activated, they had valuable time to properly assess possibilities and find the detonating device. Unfortunately, the scope of the imminent terrorist attack was immense, and despite all his mental planning, Sherlock immediately recognize **_**in situ **_**that some options no longer applied and others had definite limitations. He would have to find the best solution very quickly to ensure safety for everyone in the path of this danger.**

**Rapidly, the detective's eyes searched the compartment, his mind replicating the thought processes of the bomb builders. It was fairly simple. Lifting the floor panel that appeared loose to his shoe, Sherlock pried off the cover. Buried in the floor was the massive heart of the bomb, with detonating device and clock for the countdown.**

**The sight made them both gasp.**

**The inoperative and unlit timer was frozen at 2:30.**

**Taking several deep breaths before he spoke, John dropped his voice two full octaves. "We need bomb disposal."**

**"There may not be time for that now." Sherlock sounded strangely worried.**

**"So, whadda we do?" John held his composure, relying on his unswerving faith in Sherlock's guidance.**

**There was a long pause, before Sherlock shook his head and lifted his eyes to John. "I've no idea."**_Never dismantled a bomb…Not enough time to learn …must review my other options._

**"Well, think of something!" Anger tinged John's voice.**

_Now going on auto-pilot to keep John talking while I think._**"Why do you think I know what to do?"**

_Huh? Are you kidding me?**"**_**Because you're Sherlock Holmes!" Offering the obvious answer, John tempered his dismay with cool reason. "You're as clever as it gets?"**_Don't play dense now!_

**"Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb! What about you?"**_Actually "defusing" may not be necessary….keep responding. This superficial banter with John is helping…_

**"I wasn't in bomb disposal. I'm a bloody doctor." John firmly reminded the man who knew everything.**

**"…And a soldier, as you keep reminding us all!"**_In the military, there are bomb squads, soldiers who know about bomb disposal. They've learned how, by using diagrams, blueprints, charts to defuse … dismantle…. Usually, low explosions require a man-made device…needs a burning process … But without access to specs, how else does one stop a bomb?_

**John was puzzled by his friend's off-putting remarks and distant look. **_Sherlock's distracted and getting snappish now. Not a good sign. Not going to encourage any absurd arguing… must be helpful._**"C-can we, can we rip that timer off or something?**

**"That would set it off!" Sherlock swiftly responded again showing authority and focus.**

**"You see! You know things!" Somehow that was John's proof.**

**The consulting detective exhaled and looked around, searching the compartment for answers his friend was certain he knew.**_There __are __other ways to stop a bomb!_

**When the lights in the carriage switched on suddenly, along with beeping and clicking noises, both men were startled, but intense panic set in when the timer began counting down.**

**"OH!" John backed away raising his arms helplessly.**

**"Aiyyyyyyy!" Sherlock scrambled about the carriage, and brought his hand to his forehead, his customary gesture for thinking—but this time nothing came.**

**"My God!" John lifted his eyes heavenward.**

**"Errrr!" Sherlock's mind whirled with questions while his body spun in circles.**

**"Why didn't you call the police?" Dry mouthed, John hoarsely croaked out recriminations that applied equally to himself. **_I should have known better. I should have called the police. I should have done it for him. Why do I obey him so completely?_

**"It's just…" Sherlock stammered.**_It's just a matter of time …just have to figure out what I'm trying to remember._

**"Why do you NEVER call the police?" John exploded with exasperation.**

**"Well, it's no use now!" Sherlock responded reasonably, feigning a calm he knew fooled no one.**

**2:15 the timer read.**

**"So you can't switch the bomb off. You can't switch the bomb off, and you didn't call the police!" Heaving with adrenaline, frustration fueled John's fury.**

**With sincerest regret, Sherlock watched his faithful friend pace like a trapped animal.**_What have I done? How can I save him if I fail at finding a solution in time? This is absolutely unforgivable... _

**"Go, John." Unshriven, Sherlock absolved his friend of their unspoken obligation to each other. He pointed the way. "Go now."**

**"There's no point now is there?" John dismissed Sherlock's self-sacrifice with his own extraordinary selflessness. Employing logic that Sherlock understood, John began with calm rationale; "Because there's not enough time to get away," although distress got the better of him, and he ended hotly, "and if we don't do this, other people will DIE!"**

**Awed by John's bravery, Sherlock was more moved by the doctor's optimism that they could actually prevent the explosion.**

**The timer switched down from 1:57 to 1:56.**

**"Mind Palace!" John commanded.**

**"Hmm?" Sherlock was distracted by something he had just heard. Something John had said that was relevant if only he could single it out from all John's other suggestions.**

**"Use your Mind Palace!"**

**"How will that help?"**

**"You've salted away every fact under the sun!"**

**"OH, ooh, well, do you think I've just got '**_**how to defuse a bomb'**_**tucked away in there somewhere?"**

_We're bickering like biddies at the wash line,_ **John thought.** _This is not a very noble way to die!_

**"YES!" John answered simply with emphasis.**

**The complete faith in John's face challenged Sherlock to try. "Maybe…"**

**"Think!" John coached as Sherlock screwed his eyes shut to access his Mind Palace. "Think things through… THINK!"**

**Trembling with the attempt that often under duress would yield dazzling success, Sherlock grimaced and moaned; hands at his temple, but this time his visit in the Palace produced a scream; "Naagh!" but nothing more.**

**Defeat appeared on Sherlock's face, and John lost all hope.**

**"OH MY GOD!" Impacted by sudden and great despair, John turned away concealing his raw terror. "This is it." He said softly.**

**Observing the slump in John's shoulders—his friend seemed crushed by hopelessness—Sherlock moved into hyper drive. **_Must save John! Must save John! Must save John! _**Dropping to the floor, the great detective inspected the massive bomb. **_Can't defuse! Can't dismantle! Wait! It's not hidden in my Mind Palace. John just gave me the answer—SWITCH the bomb off! Find the terrorists' fail-safe, the kill-switch. _**Sherlock finally knew what to look for as he slid his hands around the large canister, making slapping noises, while spewing half thoughts aloud in unintelligible mumbles, punctuated by sighs. **_Save John! Save John! Save John! Save John! _**….He could save John, a****s long as****the terrorists built in a kill-switch!**

**"Oh my God," John repeated, trying to reconcile himself to the inevitable.**_There is little time…So much to lose… but Mary, dear, sorry ….such a bitter sorrow…so many things I should have said…so much left unspoken…forgive me for leaving you too soon… Always tried to do the right thing. Is this it? Dying for my country, giving my life in an attempt to save others? This thing I am about to do, at least in the end, no one can say I deserted my friend…You already know, I couldn't live with that!_

**"Oh God…?"**_YES! _**Sherlock muttered over the cylindrical body of the wired monstrosity in the floor. "Hah, hah!" **_YES! _**The mantra in his head ceased and his voice grew softer when he switched the button off. **_YES!_

**The timer stopped **_YES! _**between 1:29 and 1:28.**

**Shaken from his thoughts, John glanced down at Sherlock who knelt on the floor over the embedded bomb.**

**The consulting detective raised his eyes to meet John's. **_Do not lie to him.__Give him the truth. Tell him now…. Wait. No! Not now, not yet! Can make better use of this. Get him to say what we both need to hear..._. **Panting and hoarse, Sherlock's voice and face filled with heart-wrenching sorrow. "I'm sorry!"**_I AM. Don't ever mean to hurt you; never meant to betray you…_

**Briefly John shut his eyes. From Sherlock's aggrieved expression and uncharacteristic emotional display, he interpreted that they were doomed and time had run out. Still, John could not relinquish his last hope in Sherlock's gift for cheating death. "What?"**

**"Can't, I can't do it, John…." Sherlock continued the truth in his head. **_I can't let you die. I can't, I won't…. I will not let you die, not here, not this way. Can't let you be robbed of the life you deserve. _**With a subtle shake of his head, Sherlock continued his plea, selectively speaking only certain portions aloud. "I don't know how…"**_to get you to …_**"Forgive me!" He finished the statement kneeling upright in a prayerful pose.**

**Fighting for every remaining second of his life, John struggled between denial and hope, uttering a furious "what?" in stunned disbelief. **_Never seen you like this. Begging for my forgiveness? Hearing your regrets… Then it must be true! We're going to die. This is goodbye? Huh? It's unbelievable! Actually I'm NOT believing this! Am I an idiot? We're standing here in our final moments, and my gut makes me suspicious! No question, I definitely HAVE trust issues!_

**Still on his knees Sherlock clasped his hands in prayer. "Please John, Forgive me? For all the hurt that I've caused you?"**_My exaggeration may soon clue you into my little prank, but I do mean every word, my friend._

**"No no no no no. This is a trick."**_I've seen you fool suspects with your distraught act. I've watched you persuade witnesses and gain information—even using tears that are convincing, and let's not forget how you tricked me from the rooftop at St. Bart's. Should I actually trust you?_

**"No." Sherlock shook his head and stifled a grin.**

**Unsettled, John noticed the grin and grinned back. "Another one of your bloody tricks."**

**"No."**_It's better giving him a flat denial than too many false-sounding protestations._

**"You're just trying to make me say something nice." John's intuition about Sherlock was often faulty, but the doctor felt something was truly amiss. **_Maybe because…ummm, we're about to die?_

**"Heh," Sherlock's grin broadened into an ironic smile. His hands remained clutched imploringly as he shook his head again. "Not this time..." **_Clever John! Your instincts are still solid about me, but can't let you see through this ruse, as tempting as it is…until we finish this..._

**"Just to make you look good even though you behaved like…" John's voice broke with inconsolable grief, and he again withdrew to wrestle his emotional turbulence alone.**

**Grieved and shamed by his friend's fresh pain, Sherlock backed into a nearby seat. **_Yes, now, John! Let me have it. I can take it now if it earns back your trust. You are too good for me, John, but you are good FOR me. I want to reciprocate and be good FOR you._

**Struggling to use the remaining seconds wisely, John grabbed the side pole for strength. Bowing his head, he stamped his foot and loosened his feelings. "I wanted you NOT to be dead!"**

**"Well, be careful what you wish for."**

**John nodded speechless, painfully aware precious more seconds they could never reclaim had just been lost. Overwhelmed by grief, love, anger, and affection, tumbling on waves through his mind, he felt he was drowning on the words in his throat.**

**Recognizing their impasse, Sherlock addressed the obvious truth. "If I hadn't come back you wouldn't be standing there..."**

**Sherlock's down-turned lips quivered with remorse.** **"**_..._**and you'd still have a future… with Mary..."**_ Go ahead, John yell at me. I deserve it. I am to blame for your two long years of heartache…. I know your loyalty to me exceeds all bounds… look how willingly you stand with me on the brink of death._

**"Yeah. I know!" John interrupted, waving his hand for Sherlock to stop. Devastating loss clutched John's heart.**

**John's genuine anguish touched Sherlock's. The detective pinched the tears filling his own eyes, bowed his head, and waited.**

**At last, John recovered his voice, released by Sherlock's uncanny empathy and understanding of sacrifice.**

**"Look, I find it difficult."**

**Sherlock nodded encouragingly. **_Must steady myself ...Here comes your explosion!_

**"I find it difficult, this sort of stuff."**

**"I know." **_Okay, okay! Gimme your worst. I'm ready._

**"Wheww." John took a deep breath, snapped to attention in a rally of courage and admitted what he had always felt in his heart. "You were the best and the wisest man that I have ever known. Yes. Of course, I forgive you!" **_Forgave you earlier, you git, back in the flat at Baker Street when we were safe. But, it's better to say it out loud. That way we can depart as friends before we become "the departed."_

**The tremendous impact of John's immediate forgiveness stunned Sherlock as if an unexpected bomb had exploded. For his "last" words, John had chosen to speak of devotion, not rancor, and Sherlock was deeply touched by his friend's swift kindness. **_Of course, in the final seconds, John would do the noble thing!_

**Before he closed his eyes, preparing to die, John saw (for what he believed was the first and now the last time) unmasked affection and appreciation in Sherlock's face. **_Mary would be proud that I overcame my "fear of verbalizing intimacy," as she would call it. _**It gave him great comfort to see his own value reflected in his friend's eyes. Then, he braced himself for the end. **

**And waited.**

**And waited. While waiting, he heard Sherlock weeping, then Sherlock sniffling, then the more familiar sound of chortles, cackles, and laughter**.

**Curious, John opened his eyes.**

**Sherlock was not hysterical from fear. He was laughing at John.**

**Immediately, John glanced at the timer that steadily flickered between 1:29 and 1:28. The clock had stopped moments ago. Sherlock had save them!**

**Sherlock, doubled over with laughter, slapped his knee.**

**"You…" John snarled.**

**"Oh, your face!" The smirking detective hooted with amusement and pointed at his bewildered partner.**

**"…Utter!"**

**"Your face!"**

**"You…"**

**"Totally had you!" The prankster reveled in his hilarity.**

**"You cock. I knew it! I knew it. You…I…I…" Grinning with giddy relief, John burst with laughter, his outrage merely a thin façade.**

**"You said such sweet things," Sherlock teased with melodramatic tenderness. "I never knew you cared."**_Always knew!_

_Mortifying. That's why I don't tell people how I feel about them! _**"I will kill you if you ever breathe a word of this to…"**

**"Scouts Honor!" Sherlock saluted with a laugh.**

**"…to ANYONE! You KNEW! You knew how to turn it off!"**

**"There's an off switch."**

**"What?"**

**"There's always an off switch." Using a gentle voice, Sherlock tried to calm his friend. "Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems unless there's an off switch."**

**"So why did you let me go through all that?" **_Another of your bloody experiments! I'm tired of being your favorite lab rat, eh?_

**"I didn't lie altogether." As he replied, a litany of answers flashed like lightning in Sherlock's head. **_You'd never admit to forgiving me if you weren't on the brink of death. You're stubborn and would have held the grudge far longer than you should and used it against me far longer than I could stand it. I need you back as my partner free and clear of the baggage of my past misconduct—although, obviously I'm still very flawed; At least you suffered for only two minutes and thirty seconds, not a full two years… Of course, I don't know where to begin to explain all this to you. _**Under the concealment of teasing, Sherlock refrained from offering his reasons. "…I absolutely have no idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off."**

**His eyes narrowed with a menacing look, John was unsure if he should let Sherlock get away with another blatantly disingenuous prank. **_If you were trying to prove how much I missed the thrill of the chase and danger, well, I guess it worked. I have to admit I feel euphoric, obviously, now that it's over, and we survived. _

**Torchlights wavering in the tunnel beyond caught John's attention. Official teams were advancing on the tracks, giving John another revelation.**

**"And you DID call the police!" **

**"Of course I called the police!"**

**"I'm definitely going to kill you." The catharsis of relief from danger —like death by explosion—belied John's threatening words and belligerent stance, Rather, he felt weak with joy. All past acrimony had been vaporized by his present euphoria.**

**"Oh, please." Sherlock protested gently. "Killing me!" He bowed his head dismissively. "That's so two years ago!" With a sly smile on his face, the not-so- departed friend leveled his gaze and fixed his luminous eyes, brimming with affection and relief, on John.**

**Sherlock's hearty laughter, which John had not heard in years, resonated like music.**

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**As always, reviews welcomed.**


	8. Chapter 8 Revelations

**CHAPTER 8: REVELATIONS**

Deep topics about life, risks, and duty are revealed between the partners as they emerge from the depths of the Underground. John breaks his customary silence with Sherlock and Mary.

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**When the bomb disposal team gave the all-clear, a small wave of Special Ops **arrived in body armor, scouring the tunnels beneath the Palace of Westminster like frantic ants kicked from their nest.****

**Emerging from the Sumatra Road tracks, John and Sherlock were greeted and grilled on the Underground platform by ****Counter-Terrorism Command of the Met**, TfL Officials, and helmeted officers from SO15 equipped with safety gear and weapons. The high-level alarm had sealed the Underground **all the way from the platforms to the station entrances on the Jubilee, Circle, and District lines** **to prevent passengers from getting in. The way it looked to John, getting out would be just as complicated. High on his own adrenaline, the doctor felt eager to leave the area, but their progress was painfully slowed by protocol and the levels of clearance they were required to endure.**

**Sherlock seemed unfazed, uncharacteristically so. At each checkpoint where he was interrogated and debriefed, he cooperated fully with their investigation by providing information down to the last detail about the averted crisis and the discovery of the Tube car. **

**In exchange, (effectively using Myrcoft's clout as leverage), he requested updates on the evacuation procedures occurring above ground. He and John learned by listening closely—in between the clipped responses of the commanders—that** **Sherlock's alert to the police, via Mycroft, had triggered an extensive evacuation procedure above ground. However**,** only a choice few actually knew that these supervised red-level drills to empty occupants from Parliament and surrounding buildings were not drills at all. **

**The BBC lobby correspondents, who were invited to participate in the Crisis Management "drills" themselves, instantaneously reported on Twitter the blow-by blow arrangements that herded them outside the so-called perimeter of danger. Then, once the operation drew to a close a few hours later, they were just as quick to tweet the test results that had been _conveniently_ provided by the Police. Followers flocked to Twitter to learn that Counter Terrorism Command awarded good marks for the organization of the drill and MI5 confirmed a record time. All were "praised for their cooperation" that ensured counter-terrorism safety procedures had been carried out with "remarkable efficacy."**

**Hearing this spin, John wanted to laugh, but thought better of it, and merely raised his brows. **

**Eventually, despite the great civility shown to the two "hero" civilians during the countless interrogations, the command crew made it perfectly clear that full disclosure about the incident was prohibited and punishable. Without allowing them to reply or protest, Sherlock and John were issued clearance passes to show at security checkpoints and brusquely dismissed.**

_How about thanking the man, at least? For Christ's sake! It was Sherlock who shut off the bomb! _**John kept the annoyance off his face. **_No sense in provoking the authorities._

**Regardless of this treatment, even John could see that Sherlock remained patient and obliging, in no obvious hurry, and not one bit sarcastic in his replies, almost as if he were pacified. **_I know he's floating, and so am I. _**John exhaled, recognizing he too was still savoring the aftermath, like a junkie on a "fix." **_Geeze, can't be this bloody addiction to risk is contagious?_

**Once they had satisfied the operatives on site and gotten legitimate clearance to leave the scene, they ascended toward the surface and away from the epicenter of activity. The higher they climbed, the faster the detective moved. Sometimes his long legs took two steps at a time which challenged his shorter friend to keep up.**

**"Sherlock?" John was puzzled by his partner's accelerated pace. He received no reply.**

**Leaning forward, head bowed in deep concentration, Sherlock's mood seemed incrementally improved with each step.**

**John followed his speeding partner out the grate (previously "unlocked" with a pry bar) through the white-tiled corridor of the Underground, and onto the street, all the while making mental comparisons; how it used to be—before "The Fall"—whenever they solved a case. **_What? No outcry __of disappointment?__ No smug assertion that it was all too easy? No ritual abuse of the police for being idiots? What's gotten into you? _

**Sherlock was not talking, so John kept silent as well. A****fter ten minutes at a rapid pace, they passed through all the official checkpoints along the "perimeter of danger" to safety beyond Trafalgar Square, where John **tugged his companion's coat sleeve to slow him down. "Sherlock!" ****

**The light touch worked. The detective stopped and turned. "Hmmm?" Catching the street lights, his eyes were radiant. "Taxi or Night Bus back to Baker? Not feeling the Tube, tonight, are you?" **

**"Hang on. This is serious, now!" Screwing his eyes, John searched his friend's face, clearly seeing something new.**** Taking a nonchalant look around to ensure no one was within earshot, John waited for a few late-night commuters to hustle by before he dropped his voice. "Sherlock, you know, bomb disposal," his voice was a hoarse whisper, "was more than two minutes and thirty seconds away when the clock started ticking?"**

**Sherlock's response was airy and distant. "It was an unfortunate miscalculation."**

**"What? Maybe more than a just 'unfortunate'—it could have been devastating! Are you listening, Sherlock?"**

**"I am."**

**John pulled Sherlock aside and waited for stragglers to pass. "Okay. So, even though you **_**called **_**the police—in **_**advance**_**," as John relived the event, his quiet voice became heavy with emotion, "they **_**never **_**would have made it in time. You saved us all from…from...epic... destruction!"**

**With a slow nod, Sherlock tsked softly, "Your perceptions, John, always put me in a most flattering light. My gratitude is sincere, but do not take this wrong when I tell you; I'm not always so deserving."**

**Sherlock paused for its effect on John—bewilderment****—****before breaking into a sly smile. "Although, in this particular incident, I certainly deserve the flattery—_TAXI!_"**

**Both Sherlock's humor and his talent for hailing a taxi with the slightest lift of his graceful arm amused John.**

**"No traffic tonight. This will take eleven minutes." The detective winked at John, gave the cabbie their destination and climbed in. John slid in beside him. On route to Baker Street, Sherlock offered his perspective in confidential tones. Inclining his head down and closer to John's ear, he lowered his voice to a mere whisper. "I realized MI6's intelligence had been incredibly specific and relayed to Mycroft, before we left the flat, where I thought the Tube carriage might be and its purpose. We've had many prior discussions, so it wasn't difficult for my genius brother to anticipate the appropriate protocols once we had the **_**when, where**_**, and **_**how**_**." Sherlock tilted his head thoughtfully. "MI5 had begun evacuation procedures, so fewer lives were in jeopardy. **_**(True. Some collateral damage would have been unfortunately unavoidable.) **_**However, as soon as the alert was sounded, the most delicate task was to keep Lord Moran in the dark about our new intel."**

**They were forced to pace their conversation between traffic stops because the idling vehicle became too quiet for conversation. John held his peace, somewhat impatiently, but once the taxi resumed its course on the Mall, he was quick to reply. "But, you were really worried down there." John remarked in his softest voice. "What you didn't know was how little time we had…"**

**"…once the clock began to countdown. That's true." An odd smile appeared on Sherlock's face as he vividly recalled their close call. "Look! Here we are!" as the taxi pulled to the kerb on Baker Street.**

**John paid the fare, as usual, and climbed out. Under the lamplight beside the black lacquer door at 221B, the doctor couldn't dismiss his edginess; it was only a day ago he was swiped from this very spot and nearly used as kindling, but as he stood behind Sherlock, his recce revealed only a young couple strolling in their direction. Likely they were harmless, but John kept an eye on them for sudden moves, just in case.**

**Sherlock didn't appear alarmed. Casually, he rolled his shoulders, clapped his hands, and filled his lungs as if refreshed by the night air. "Nothing like the promise of another day, John," he said and reached into his pocket for the key.**

**Because John was anxiously awaiting answers to his yet unasked questions, everything seemed to be in slow motion—Sherlock retrieving the key, inserting it into the lock, waiting for the man and woman, laughing as they walked arm-in arm, to pass****—****all took more valuable time. John offered them a nod and fake social smile as if he could speed them along. When they were out of earshot, he continued the topic with a guardedly low voice. "And we most certainly would have died—altogether, on the spot."**

**All this while, Sherlock had his hand on the door knob, without turning it. His chin rested on his chest while he stood poised in thought on the stoop. At John's question, Sherlock cocked his head, twisted toward John, and gave him a strange grin. "Yes. It had suddenly become a real possibility."** _Trust issues, not withstanding, you trusted in me to cheat death yet again. What better way to regain your trust than to succeed? _**"****And... the couple that just passed? Flat's on Dorset. He's in finance, she's in advertising; have two Siamese cats: _Me_ and _Ow_. Shame. Not very original... No need for your vigilance." **

**With great restraint, the doctor controlled his frustration: **_What? Who cares about them! _**Instead, he stuck to topic. "So, so it's true. You're not fooling me again? We were in real danger?" **

**"We die a little bit every day. In fact, every moment is fraught with life and death possibilities, John." The detective finally opened the door, and John automatically followed him into the foyer where Sherlock removed his long coat. "A person takes a casual stroll through town, unforeseen that in the next moment, he will be struck and killed by a taxicab; a seemingly innocuous cut on a woman's hand causes blood poisoning and heart-stopping infection; a persistent cough one morning is a cancer diagnosis by afternoon… as long as we're alive, we are at risk of dying."**

**"Aaaah. _Much_ better! 'Cheerful' as always." John mocked as he followed him up the stairs. "You had me worried for a while. So, the answer is YES?" John stood at the top of the landing and waited for absolute confirmation, which he didn't get.**

**"It's not how you die, John! It's how you _lived_ before you die… " Sherlock stated with enthusiasm as he entered his cluttered sitting room. "and if you survive… how much you enjoy the life you are living, _risks_ and all."**

**"Hmm. Sure!" John teased. "Came up with that yourself, now dya? Not reading gravestones epitaphs as another peculiar hobby you've acquired?"** **John was stymied, until a new insight about his friend dawned. "Does this mean no more: **_**'an engine, racing out of control. A rocket, tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launch pad?'**_"

**"Two years away**_**,**_**" a half-grin curled his lips, "have had its effects. I value what I have now, here, back in London, enough for me to try at least to deal with the boredom levels."**

**"Amazing!" John raised his brows in dubious surprise. **

**"Admit it. You feel it too. This, this 'euphoria from tonight. What a challenge, John! Adrenaline and Oxytocin surging through our systems: it's intoxicating!" The tall man was light on his feet, gracefully dancing across the carpet. "It's no longer what I LIVE for, it's not exactly why I take risks, but even so, it makes the living and the risk-taking more enjoyable."**

**"Yeah. I admit it. I feel it." John chuckled at his friend's exuberance. "But, for thrills I could just as easily ride the London Eye—"**

**"—Really, John?" his friend interrupted, feigning dramatic disappointment with wide eyes. "You're in a bubble with other people! How tame is that?"**

**"Much prefer a guaranteed-I'll-survive thrill to an about-to be-blown up thrill." John heard himself voicing the opinion of an "ordinary" man, and somehow, it seemed hollow and untrue.**

**As if a switch had been thrown, Sherlock fell silent. He inspected the stack of books and periodicals piled haphazardly on his desk, shuffled distractedly through several loose papers, and hesitated above his leather chair. Knocking a rolled newspaper off the seat, he sat. His eyes made a sweeping motion across the room until they settled on John. "Sometimes if you are going to die, it's also the who—who will be with you when you die****—****that makes the difference." A deep smile pulled at his lips, and dimples appeared in his cheeks. "If I had to die today with someone, well, John, strange thing to say, you would be my first choice."**

**The former soldier and army doctor instantly comprehended. He bowed his head to hide his reaction, and muttered softly. "I'm honored," barely suppressing the urge to click his heels and salute.**

**"Don't be!" Sherlock teased. "It makes no sense to me."**_Obviously, didn't want US to die. Did everything possible to prevent dying today. _**"It's an inexplicable contradiction. I'm sure you'll enlighten me at some point. The fact is, I r****ather we both continued to live."**

**"So do I, please God." John snickered softly, settling into his armchair with the casual ease they used to share. It was all so familiar and so greatly missed, that John dropped his head and closed his eyes to absorb it. For two long years, he thought he had lost this. "Thank you," he mumbled after several moments of companionable silence.** "**For tonight…, for me,... fo****r not being DEAD anymore."**

**"M'pleasure," was the quiet reply. The famous detective was accustomed to receiving thanks during news conferences from pompous dignitaries campaigning for attention whilst riding on the great press of another of Sherlock's solved cases; or thanks from rescued victims who had genuine reason to appreciate deliverance; but "thanks" were rarely offered by the people who worked with him regularly, who dealt with his insufferable superiority and were forced to tolerate his personality flaws. For these reasons, John's thanks held great weight.**

**"You know, Sherlock, I was only angry **_**(of course you know) **_**more about your failure to communicate—one word—with me when others knew…" Raising his eyes, John met his friend's gaze.**

**"That was wrong … of me." Both pairs of eyes remained connected.**

**"Let me finish." John lifted his hand. "I confess, I let things slide, too, with Mrs. Hudson. I couldn't even give her the comfort of one word all that time. It was too much for me. So, I'm guilty of neglect— though not as extreme as yours! It's who you are, I guess. Is there anything you don't do to extremes?"**

** A faraway look darkened the humor in Sherlock's eyes, his voice suddenly grew solemn. "How **_**far **_**should one go for duty, for family, for friends—for love?" ****This question of "how far" had been a conundrum. Infiltrating criminal organizations in Eastern Europe took him to extremes that he deemed justified and necessary to destroy Moriarty's pervasive network. Whether these acts were amoral, immoral, or moral, (they were initially motivated by his ethical commitment to defend and protect the civilized world and friends he left behind) he could not answer, for he lacked his moral compass****—John Watson****.**** So many times ****he improvised wondering what John might think.**

**"How **_**far**_**? Good question. It's complex." John tried to provide an answer that would help by reflecting on his years in the service. "When push comes to shove, you hope you will have what it takes to brave hardship, incarceration, torture, loss, even death, for the good that you uphold." The army doctor inhaled before he added, "yes, and especially for those you love."**

**Sherlock nodded. "You have demonstrated, John, how far you would go. You are loyal and willing to sacrifice your life and freedom to save others, and whilst you are a highly principled doctor who has saved so many lives, you've killed to defend when necessary.…"**

**"True, Sherlock. I've been trained to make snap decisions to save the lives of my comrades. Unfortunately, war forces the moral person to kill—to put to death—the enemy. Some argue it is justifiable homicide, to defend self, companions, property, and in response to one's sworn duty." John swallowed hard and looked down. "But you also mean the time I saw no other option. It was either your life or the cabbie's. I made a personal choice without malice of forethought. Was it murder? All I know, it was the only decision I could live with." John inspected his hands in silence.**

**"So you have been willing to murder..." Sherlock formed a steeple as he thought, "…for me?"**

**"In the eyes of the law, perhaps, but I do not feel that I committed murder. What's this all about anyway?" John leaned back in his chair with sudden weariness.**

**"Been away." The voice of withdrawal, indicating the detective was mentally distancing himself had not changed with time. "Acclimating to new landscapes." **_Indebted to this good man, this good man sees the good in me. The good I hope to find again. "_**Shouldn't you be calling Mary?"**

**John jumped up with the reminder and pulled out his mobile. "Mary! YES!"**_How could I forget? Got so distracted! _**Pressing speed dial**_, _**John felt compelled to take a significant risk to enjoy his life. "Aahh, Mary! I know it's late. I'm on my way back now…wait up. Gotta talk…"**

**Sherlock listened how John sped down the steps and out the flat. He deduced what would happen next and smiled.**

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**Local newsreaders broke a version of the story that the public was meant to hear. **

_**"London remains on high alert this morning. Police cleared the area around Charing Cross after a suspect package was reportedly found by the "Hat Detective," Sherlock Holmes, whilst on a case. However, good news: District Line trains are expected to be running again in a few hours once investigators downgrade it to a less serious level."**_

_So what about the first story, the "red-level drill" held at Parliament last night? Wasn't that a good enough cover? __**"**_**Sworn" to secrecy, John Watson could only scowl at the telly where he stood in Mrs. Hudson's flat waiting, whilst Mary and the landlady planned the preparations for a small celebration with Greg, Molly, and Sherlock.**

**"Molly says she's bringing her Tom!" Mrs. Hudson cackled gleefully. "They'll be by in less than an hour. Should I bring out some fresh linens? Never mind. Mary, dear, the champagne glasses are in the dinner cupboard. May be dusty. Come on. I'll wash. You'll dry. We'll have John take them up to Sherlock's. Don't remember when we've last had occasion to use them! How things have turned around in just a few days…!"**

**"Certainly, Mrs. Hudson!" Mary agreed cheerfully, giving John a lingering look, her eyes sparkling like the engagement ring on her finger, as she followed the chatting woman into the kitchen. **

**The doctor closed his eyes in recollection of that life-affirming moment and smiled. Last night, after he returned from the Tube Bomb Crisis, Dr. John H. Watson proposed for a second time. The gracious and lovely Mary Morstan accepted the uninterrupted proposal of marriage.**

_Life's too short. Risk's too high. Not putting things off anymore. Living every moment to the fullest includes loving Mary—one of the best human beings to enter my life. Before her, there was Sherlock. So fortunate to have __two __people who have given my life worth._

_Almost didn't make it, if it hadn't been for Sherlock; many others wouldn't have either._

**The modified news story had been running since dawn. At least, the press was correctly crediting the famous Sherlock Holmes, newly raised from "beyond the grave," for his deductive brilliance—but the real core of the incident was circumvented tidily by MI5 and SIS spinmeisters.**

**However, John knew. **_An unthinkable catastrophe—affecting the entire UK—had been averted. And no one can know the enormous extent to which Sherlock had just saved us all. Yeah, the Great Sherlock Holmes will get the press clamoring for sound bites later today, and he'll play along with his usual indifference. And that will be enough. For him._

_Only, I know how much more he deserves our gratitude. My God! I'm still shaken by it! MI5, MI6, and SO15, would be picking up the bloody pieces of civilization if it had not been for him. Deny it or not, the man is a hero—especially to me!_

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_Your reviews and insights are most welcomed._


	9. Chapter 9 Good Shot

**CHAPTER 9: "GOOD SHOT"**

**oooOOOOOOOooo**

**"…Unlike the embellished fictions on your blog, John, real life is rarely so neat; I don't know who is behind all this, but I will find out, I **_**promise **_**you." Sherlock preceded John down the stairs while stuffing his arms into the sleeves of his beloved Belstaff, then shrugging it over his shoulders. Beyond the front door of 221B Baker Street, the press was waiting for "the story."**

**As he spoke, the consulting detective listened intently to the echoing footfalls of his friend's descent, but the rhythmic pattern of 17 steps was interrupted. **_John has stopped on step 15. _**Sherlock was acutely aware what this hesitation indicated. **_An emotional shift! John has something more to say…hmmm. Nothing to do with the terrorist threat we just averted… we have controlled our amused shock over Molly's boyfriend, Tom… our conversation about his abduction just ended… So, what?_

**John paused. **_You're the proverbial cat, Sherlock, spitting out canary feathers right now. You like showing me up about how much I miss _The Work. _Maybe it's true, but here's another bit of truth. As much as you denounce public opinion, you're a love-starved genius! You have missed your adoring audience… _**"Don't pretend you're not enjoying this," he finally said, deepening the pitch of his voice for a more intimate and confidential effect.**

**"Huh?" Sherlock inclined his head, only his left ear tilted toward his partner behind him.**

**"Being back. Being a **_**hero **_**again." With a marksman's eye, the army man 'fired' two shots across the bow. **_I challenge you to refute this!_

**"Hmm! Don't be stupid!" Evasive action wasn't going to deflect John's unerring sight, but Sherlock tried anyway.**

**"You'd have to be an idiot not to see it. You love it!" **_Bull's eye!_

**The target yielded. A puzzled and prolonged sidelong glance was all the consulting detective could give his friend in defense. …"Love what?"**

**"**_**Being **_**Sherlock Holmes." The clipped statement recoiled and ended like a question. Once he had discharged the thought, John completed the final two steps to the floor and studied the reaction on his friend's face.**

**"I don't even know **_**what **_**that's supposed to mean." Sherlock leveled his gaze at John with a dismissive shake of his head and a slightly furrowed brow before he turned back around, removed his gloves from his pocket, and pulled them on.**

_Hang on!You know exactly what I mean…! _**John noted, mentally preparing a description for his next blog. "**_You, with your signature long coat_…_your cheekbones, the upturned collar corralling that cascade of black curls…You're only missing the deerstalker!"_

**The famous, albeit hat-less, detective had taken three paces closer to the door when another question rang out and halted him.**

**"Sherlock, you aren't going to tell me how you did it." John had reloaded, muting his queries by making them declarations of fact.**

**Still turned away, Sherlock emotionally ducked from the subtle barrage of inflections in John's voice.**

**"How you jumped off that building and survived." John was speaking to the back of the coat, the collar, the curls—the master of disguise and prestidigitation—hoping to reach his **_**friend **_**within.**

**"You know my methods, John." The army doctor's diffused emotions stung like pellets. Sherlock felt wounded by remorse, unable to return the volley. His lame reply, "I'm known to be indestructible," sadly missed its mark.**

**John was not ready to let up. "No, but seriously. When you were 'dead,' I went to your grave…"**

**"I should **_**hope **_**so." His reply was soft, but now Sherlock anticipated the direction of this round.**_ Relied on it. Knew you would be there._

**"I made a little speech." John had finally mastered his words and his emotions, his steady voice, unrelenting and purposeful, aimed—a crack shot—straight for his friend's heart.**

**Absorbing the shock of genuine feelings, Sherlock flinched with the memory of his grieving friend at the headstone.**

**"I actually **_**spoke **_**to you." **_My heart was breaking…because until I met you, I was so alone. I owed you so much. It killed me to think that I had failed you._

**"I know." Set free by a truth he could actually speak, the resurrected detective turned toward his faithful doctor and friend. Crystal blue-gray eyes kindled warmly, the usual mask of indifference and cold reason fell away. Without pretense he replied. "I was there." **_As I am now!_

**Rendered speechless by the profound honesty in Sherlock's expression, John wavered slightly. **_Aah! May be why I __felt_ _you were listening…So it wasn't the wishful thinking of a delusional man?_

**John swallowed, determined to fight through his usual fear of verbalizing intimacy. "I asked you for one more miracle." He quelled a slight quiver in his lips. "I asked you to stop being dead."**

**"I heard you."**

**Like a gunsight shifting slightly to get a better view of its target, John saw what he could not see before. He**** had not been alone at the gravesite, he had not become invisible. ****Sherlock had witnessed his grief. They had both experienced loss. They had both suffered. **_Each__ in our own way, I not knowing, you not be able to explain. _** His aim all along had been to understand, to get past his pain, and to move on. With the succinct report of Sherlock's three words, John achieved his mark.**

**Watching the subtlest body language of his friend****—****the ripple of a gentle swallow in his throat, the slightest irrepressible expansion of his pupils, the catch of his breath—as they stood facing each other in the lobby of 221B, Sherlock realized his ability to see and value the real John Watson****—****the soldier, the doctor, _his_ friend****—****had grown since that night nearly four years ago when with two words, "good shot," he acknowledged that it was John who had saved his life. And John was validated by his recognition**. **A strange new loyalty galvanized both men in that moment and produced an unspoken commitment to protect and defend each other, whatever it takes, whatever happens. **_It's the two of us against the world. Headlines: Detective Needs His Blogger__. _**On**** that last thought, Sherlock drew in a deep breath, clapped his gloved hands resolutely, and spoke with unveiled enthusiasm. "Anyway, time to be Sherlock Holmes!"**

**With John watching his back, the consulting detective stepped toward the door, hesitated, and then took one step back. To prove his partner right, he grabbed his deer stalker from the hall peg and fitted it rakishly over his curls. Then he pulled opened the door.**

**Flash bulbs went off in rapid succession as the hat detective, Sherlock Holmes—recently returned from the dead—accompanied by his stalwart companion Dr. John H. Watson greeted the ****journalists and photographers****.**

**Highlighting the evening story that broke across all print and internet media was a good shot of London's famous crime-fighting team; Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.**

**oooOOOOOOOooo**

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